Harry Potter and the Second Prophecy
by Martiele
Summary: Camilia is a sixteen yearold orphan from a notorious wizarding family in the US who has no idea she's a witch. Enter a portkey, the forbidden forest, and a mysterious piece of parchment, and Harry is in for a disturbing sixth year...
1. A Lady's Handbag

**Chapter 1 – A Lady's Handbag**

As she raced headlong through the trees, Camilia found herself praying to the God whose existence she'd always denied: _Please, God, let this be just a bad dream. Let me open my eyes and find myself back at the home, tossing and turning in my bed._ But the eight-legged monsters behind her were no dream, and the bones that had hung from the cloud-like webs could have been those of nothing other than homosapiens.

Her prayers did nothing to stem the panic that had gripped her as she thought to herself, _They're gaining,_ but her legs could carry her no faster, and it was quite an effort to see through the darkness of this overgrown forest, to find her footing amidst the underbrush, and to keep from colliding with trees, thorns, and branches alike.

Camilia's life was not flashing before her eyes…and she took this as a welcome sign that she was not destined for death. Instead, her mind flashed to the start of this "vacation" the home had sent them on and the bus ride through London after their arrival at Heathrow. She'd been sitting alone, as usual, toward the back of the bus, headphones on, Slipknot pumping through the earpieces. Some would have called her a bitter, angry teenager, she knew, but she also realized what most adults had forgotten by the time they'd reach a point to criticize: all teenagers are bitter and angry, and eventually she'd outgrow her Slipknot faze. In the meantime, why not relish it? Perhaps the next time she became angry, she'd be able to make something strange happen again and prove that she was possessed of some sort of telekinetic power. Not two weeks before, one of the older boys at the home had been picking on a child she had a particular fondness for, and the next thing she knew, he'd been thrown against the wall and had blacked out from the force of it, even though no one had touched him.

The bus had pulled into King's Cross station, and the tour guide and orphanage employees clucked at the youths to get their attention, attempting, albeit futilely, to line them up along one of the station's outermost walls for a headcount. Camilia ambled from the bus to a spot further down the wall, assuming that the space between her and the guide would be filled before long by a mass of twelve to seventeen year-olds. She donned her backpack, slumped against the wall, and waited for her name to be called, only turning her music down enough to barely hear what was going on around her.

After she'd been counted and her name checked off, one of the home's employees ushered her into the station. It was enormous. All around her were people, passageways, and baggage, and it would have been easy to lose sight of her group had she not been being carefully watched by one of the employees who had always seemed to fear her a flight risk. A ticket was shoved into her hand, and she was directed along with her group down another corridor to the boarding area.

Then it hit her: she felt light, floaty, as though her mind had temporarily left her, and all that remained was a curious inability to focus. She staggered sideways, trying desperately to shake it off, to clear her head, and as soon as she did so, she felt an alarming need to find a restroom. She knew quite clearly that if she did NOT find a restroom, there would be quite the mess to clean up, so she stopped the employee nearest her and informed him of her need, pointed to a restroom she couldn't remember having noticed before, and made a beeline straight for it. The employee, whoever he was, she could never remember their names, yelled at her to be quick and come right back, but her need was so overwhelming that his words seemed inconsequential.

She burst through the entrance into the ladies' restroom and hurried for the first stall, but just as she reached it, Camilia realized the need to relieve herself had somehow disappeared, as had her sudden bout of "fuzz-brain." She looked around the room feeling rather silly, and then, as she turned to leave, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye that made her turn back to the sink: someone had left their purse on the counter.

Normally, Camilia wanted for nothing. The home took good care of all the state's wards, and all their needs and many of their wants were met. Camilia knew she was lucky to have been placed in such a home, as many orphans were placed in situations far, far worse, but nonetheless, she had always been excited at the prospect of easy thievery. She liked to blame her shoplifting tendencies on having grown up without parents to teach her properly, and though she knew it to be the lamest of excuses, it eased her guilty conscience every time she stole a lipstick or shoplifted a sweater or lifted a wallet. She looked around, checked for cameras overhead, wondering if England had the same "no-security-cameras-in-bathrooms" standard that most places in the states had, and slunk over to the counter, convincing herself that she'd just peek inside the purse, maybe to see who might have left it behind. She reached for it…

And felt the oddest sensation; what seemed like a giant hook grabbing her right behind her belly button, and she found herself racing through the air, up through the building, out into darkness though she knew it was still day, guessing that this was God's way of scolding her for wanting to swipe the handbag, and then she was brought down again, descending at a ridiculous rate through what appeared to be a giant forest, and then was slammed into the ground in a clearing in the trees, her legs buckling under her, her body collapsing onto the dirt.

Amazingly, she found, she was not hurt. Shocked and bewildered, of course, but not injured. Her knees were sore, her clothes were dirty, but she was otherwise unscathed. Even her CD walkman had survived! Most unfortunately, however, she was hopelessly lost in a place obviously miles from King's Cross. Next to her lay the purse she'd grabbed, and, hoping that though she cared not repeat her journey she could just grab the purse and be right back where she'd started, she reached for it once more. When nothing happened, she scooped up the purse and began rifling through its contents. It contained various random objects: a sock, a crochet hook, a plastic cup, and an oddly colored lollipop, but nothing of any real value.

She continued to root through the purse, and then, at the very bottom, she found a note on a small piece of parchment, written in black ink in an old-fashioned hand. It had been folded over once, and the front read:

Camilia Pritchard, Witch

The Forbidden Forest

Perplexed, she opened it, wondering what sort of joke this could be that would have her in a place someone had nicknamed the Forbidden Forest, holding a note with her name, having the audacity to call her a "witch." The inside had one word scribbled on it in the same hand:

Run.

She looked up at the trees, finally taking the time to examine the clearing in which she currently sat, and no sooner did she do so than she heard it: a hissing and clacking, drawing, it seemed, ever closer. Camilia did not turn to look for the source of the noise. Instead, she thrust the note into her jeans pocket, ripped her walkman from her clothes, flung it into her bag, and was already running at full throttle through the forest as she finished zipping up her backpack.

After what seemed like days but could only have been perhaps a minute, she slowed her pace and began to look around. She could see another, smaller clearing ahead, perhaps a quarter-mile away, and began to make her way toward it. The closer she came to it, the more intensely she could smell what could only have been the unmistakable stench of rotted meat, but her curiosity got the best of her, and she continued. She was perhaps ten feet from the edge of the clearing when she saw it: what appeared to be a giant mass of spider webs draped across the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, riddled throughout with sharp, sun bleached bones. Human bones. She stopped dead in her tracks, the bile rising in her throat. As she stood staring at the bones, she heard a gentle "clack" immediately to her left, and slowly she turned.

Camilia was face to face with a spider.

It took a moment to register what it was she was looking at, and then another moment to register that, if she was indeed face to face with the monster, the sheer size of the creature must be…

She darted, but felt something soft grasp her right shoulder, and as she reached to brush it off, her hand stuck to it. _It's a web,_ she thought miserably. _I've been caught by webbing shot at me by a horse-sized spider._ And as she contemplated this, still running, she was overwhelmed not by terror, but by revulsion. Her free hand reached for her backpack, swept it from her shoulders, and managed to use it to take with it the webbing. Camilia flung the pack as far from herself as she could, and continued to run with all her might, looking back only once to find that the giant spider had suddenly multiplied into hundreds of all sizes, each clacking their jaws, hissing, spitting, and rushing madly in her direction. So much for a group vacation to the British Isles.

And then the hissing and clacking had ceased. There was only a deafening silence, enormous trees, and an eerie darkness. She took in her surroundings as one plotting the safest course back down Everest, knowing death is a possibility, but that not making the attempt would be certain death. In the end, she gave up and reached back into her pocket for the bizarre note she'd shoved into it before making her mad dash. This time it was different…this time the front stated:

Camilia Pritchard, Witch

Edge of the Forbidden Forest

Hoping for further enlightenment as to direction, she opened the note once more and found a similar message:

Keep Moving.

She did not wait this time to find out why, but immediately began sprinting into the trees, and had gone perhaps a hundred yards when the sound of an angry, barking, vicious dog met her ears. She turned momentarily to see whence it came, and was plagued once more with a terror she had never known: she was being chased by the largest wolf-like creature she'd ever seen, but it was running after her on two legs.

Her speed increased, as did her desperation, and just as she thought her lungs about to rupture, she burst from the trees onto a large patch of grass and saw that not a hundred yards in front of her were…greenhouses. In front of…a castle? Castles and greenhouses, however unlikely, were almost always peopled, so she ran toward the nearest greenhouse with all her might, knowing she was destined to fall short; she could almost feel the breath of the man-wolf on the back of her neck.

Camilia did the only thing she could. She came to a screeching halt and turned to face the creature on her tail, throwing up her hands at it in a motion to keep it at bay. Utter desperation coursed through her, and a massive surge of blue light burst from her hands and drove the man-wolf into the air, pushing the beast so that it fell a few yards from her. She began quickly to back away, shocked at what she'd just managed to do, when the hellish creature rose to its feet and started toward her again, enraged by its inability to enjoy its reward. She put up her arms once more and a giant shield of a similar blue energy surrounded the girl just as the creature pounced, knocking her backward, but managing to keep the clawing, furious fiend six inches from her flesh. It seemed to her as though she were a woman in a shark cage in the open sea, wondering if the walls of the cage would hold, watching great whites snap their jaws and flash rows of wickedly sharp teeth.

Just as she was beginning to believe she could hold off the man-wolf not a moment longer, she heard shouting. A young, dark-haired man holding a long stick, wearing what appeared to be a billowing set of black choir robes, came running toward her and the creature from the nearby greenhouse. He yelled something she could not understand, perhaps in another language, and what appeared to be shotgun pellets flew at the thing, which immediately turned tail and ran headlong back into the forest, looking back menacingly for a brief moment when it was a distance away.

Camilia's shield of blue light disappeared as quickly as she'd somehow conjured it, and the young man was now standing over her. His eyes were full of concern, and emerald green…so green, she momentarily felt lost in them…and then Camilia fainted.


	2. A Whole New World

**Chapter 2 – A Whole New World**

Harry Potter had been in the middle of freezing a batch of Gurgling Plimpsore roots to keep them from oozing their puss-filled wound-creating sap onto his fingers while preparing them for delivery to the Potions dungeon when he happened to look out of Greenhouse 2 toward the Forbidden Forest. At first he couldn't believe his eyes: a casually dressed girl was running toward the castle at full throttle, and she was being followed by…a werewolf?

He had only barely had time to process the oddity of a girl he'd never seen before wearing weekend clothes running from the forest, as well as the fact that she was being chased from the Forbidden Forest by a transformed werewolf in broad daylight, when he shouted his observation to Professor Sprout and lunged for the door. The entire class stood watching with horror as they saw the werewolf gain on the girl, and Hermione yelled after Harry and started to follow, but was held back by Ron, who figured his best friend knew what he was doing…whatever that was.

Harry had just left the greenhouse when suddenly the girl turned to face the werewolf and an electric blue light shot from her hands, knocking the werewolf away. He hesitated momentarily, startled by what he'd just witnessed, but then the werewolf was back on its feet again and redoubling its efforts to attack the mysterious girl. He surged forward again, but found that as the werewolf leapt at the young woman, intent on ending her life, she brought up her hands once more and effectively erected a shield around herself of the same blue light, keeping the beast from ripping her to shreds. He was half way to the girl, wand drawn, when the creature finally took note of him.

Harry fired his wand at the werewolf yelling _"Evolo Argentum!"_ and a mass of tiny silver beads were launched from the end of his wand, flying toward the werewolf. The werewolf knew better than to stick around, so it darted back to the forest, turning once to stare at Harry with a pair of piercing red eyes. The young wizard watched it go, still bewildered by the presence of a transformed werewolf in absence of the full moon, then turned his attentions to the young woman who had nearly become its lunch. He stared down at her, wondering what first to say, but she fainted before he could come up with anything intelligent.

Professor Sprout, Seamus Finnegan, and Ernie Macmillan were on Harry's heels, and were soon themselves staring down at the young lady Harry had rescued from the werewolf. "Good heavens! Did she faint? Only just now?" asked Professor Sprout, and without waiting for a response, she ordered Seamus to go immediately and notify Professor McGonagall of the young lady's arrival and ask her to meet them in the hospital wing, Ernie to return to class and have the students finish preparing their Gurgling Plimpsores for the Potions master, and told Harry that he would be accompanying her and the girl to Madam Pomfrey's.

"I'm all right, Professor," Harry noted.

"I realize that, Mr. Potter," Professor Sprout returned, "but I'd like you to be present when Professor McGonagall reaches the hospital wing. You were nearest the event and can best explain what you saw." She then muttered _"Mobilicorpus"_ and the girl's unconscious body raised itself from the ground and made its own way, under the direction of Professor Sprout's wand, to the hospital wing, gliding along in front of the teacher and her student.

Professor McGonagall arrived at the hospital wing with Professor Dumbledore, whom she had notified immediately upon hearing Seamus's message, moments after Harry and Professor Sprout had themselves entered. Madam Pomfrey was already busying herself around the girl's bedside, propping her comfortably on some self-fluffing pillows and pulling a set of wispy white curtains around the bed to shield her from others' views. Harry had not even had time to relate to the Healer the reason for the girl fainting when he was joined by both the Headmaster and the Head of his House.

Madam Pomfrey began the questioning. "Now, just who is this young lady?" she asked.

"Go ahead, Mr. Potter," prodded Sprout. "Tell them what happened."

"Yes, Professor," he replied, and began to recount the story of his chance glance out of Greenhouse 2, the realization that an unknown girl was being chased by a werewolf in broad daylight, the odd phenomenon of blue light being emitted by the hands of the young woman, and finally her having passed out, when McGonagall interrupted.

"Surely she said something to you before she fainted, Potter?"

"Nothing, Professor. She passed out before she had a chance."

"So very strange." McGonagall turned to Pomfrey. "Poppy, has she anything on her person that might tell you who she is?"

"Hadn't the time to check yet," countered Pomfrey, and with that, she waved her wand over the girl, muttering an incantation under her breath. Immediately a coin purse, a train ticket, and a slip of parchment flew from the girl's pockets, flitted briefly through the air, and landed in Dumbledore's outstretched palm. He tilted his head slightly in her direction as though to thank her, and proceeded with his search.

The coin purse contained both English Muggle pounds and American Muggle dollars, as well as coins from each currency. The ticket was for a train scheduled to leave approximately 15 minutes earlier, heading toward Northumberland. It was the parchment that most troubled Dumbledore, however. It had been folded in half, and the front of the parchment addressed itself to one Camilia Pritchard, apparently a witch, her location specified as the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The paper, when unfolded, contained three words:

You are She.

He neatly folded the parchment back in half, then in half once more, and in half one final time, and slipped it into his robes.

"Poppy, what do you have that might bring her 'round?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well," ventured Pomfrey, "as it seems her faint was brought on by fear rather than jinx, perhaps…" Her voice trailed away as she wandered to her stores of potions and bindings. She returned a moment later with a small white stick smelling strongly of the Muggle cleaning fluid ammonia. "Not magnificent smelling, I must say, but it's an old Muggle remedy, and it _is_ effective." Without further ado, Pomfrey placed the stick directly under the nose of the young lady who, after what appeared to be no more than two breaths, jolted awake. Her eyes flew open and she frantically searched the space around her, whether seeking the werewolf, giant spiders, or the young man who had saved her life, no one was certain. Then her brown eyes came to rest on Harry.

"I – you – you saved my life," she stammered.

"From what he tells me," interrupted Dumbledore, "you seemed to have been doing a fine job defending it yourself."

"I – I'm sorry?"

"Young Mr. Potter here tells us that you kept that werewolf at bay of your own accord thanks to some very powerful magic, am I right?" ventured Dumbledore.

"Werewolf? I'm sorry, did you say werewolf?" asked Camilia, eyes widening, before asking a flood of questions. "Who are you all? Am I inside the castle? What's with the clothes? And what do you mean, magic?"

"I believe our young friend is confused, Minerva. Perhaps, my dear, we should start at the beginning. It seems that would be a far less puzzling thing to do, for all of us. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster here at Hogwarts. This is Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, and Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. I believe you have already met, however briefly, Mr. Harry Potter, a student here."

"Hello," put in Harry, trying to be helpful.

"Uh, hi," said Camilia.

"May we have the pleasure of your name, my dear?" asked Dumbledore.

"Oh, yeah. Um, Camilia. Camilia Pritchard." As soon as her surname had left her lips, Dumbledore smiled sadly, and McGonagall spoke up.

"My apologies, child, I thought you'd said your name was Pritchard," she said.

Camilia looked baffled. "I did. It is. That _is_ my last name."

McGonagall went instantly pale. "Professor Dumbledore, a word with you, if I may," she said stiffly.

"Excellent idea, Minerva. Perhaps you two ladies might wish to join us as well?" suggested Dumbledore, leaving, however, no room for argument. The three women followed Dumbledore across the ward, and Camilia appeared quite thrown by their sudden change in mood.

"Do you know what all that's about?" asked Camilia of Harry.

"Buggered if I know. Just a moment, then. I haven't really heard you speak until now. Are you…an American?" Harry inquired.

"Sure am. Born and bred. My great-great-great-and-then-some grandparents came over on the Mayflower or something." she noted, and then added, "I'm from Boston. Have you heard of it?"

"No, sorry," said Harry. "But I bet you've never heard of Little Whinging, am I right?"

"Correct. Not a clue where it is. Is that where you're from?"

"It is."

"Look, can you – can you tell me how I got here? And did that guy say he is a Headmaster? Of a school?"

"You haven't heard of Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

"No."

"But you can see it! You – you can do magic! How could you not know about Hogwarts?" argued Harry.

"Magic?"

"The blue…energy…light…whatever it was that came from your hands when you fought off that werewolf! What did you think that was?" Harry was now completely thrown; he stood and paced the length of the bed.

"I don't know what that was. It's never happened before. I mean, sure, stuff has happened before when I'm scared like that, or pissed off or whatever, but not like _that_. And…werewolf? Those aren't real!" Camilia was beginning to feel a bit desperate. "Can you just please tell me what's going on here?"

Harry paused for a moment, and then launched into the best explanation he could come up with. He had himself not known of his magical heritage until he'd turned eleven, so he would probably have been the best option for one who could explain to Camilia the situation. He told her about Hogwarts being a school of witchcraft and wizardry, how non-magical folk, commonly referred to as Muggles, did not know about and could not see or get near to Hogwarts, how most magical individuals began their magical schooling at eleven and completed it when they came of age at seventeen, and explained in general terms what the Headmaster, Heads of Houses, Professors, and others employed by the school did.

"You know, that's a little hard to digest, I gotta tell ya," stammered Camilia.

Harry had remembered thinking the same thing at eleven, and imagined how much harder it would have been to learn about his magical heritage at a later age. "I'm sorry, you're – how old?" wondered Harry aloud.

"I turned sixteen a couple months ago."

"Really? So did I. When was your birthday?"

Camilia hesitated; she did not honestly know which day. She only knew that her parents had celebrated her third birthday around the beginning of July, shortly before they died. "July 12th, I think."

"You beat me by two or three weeks, then," noted Harry.

The two sat in silence a moment, waiting on the other to continue the conversation, when Camilia finally opened her mouth to speak. "Can you show me some magic?" She was greeted by silence. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I don't think you're like a performing monkey or anything. I was just hoping you could show me – "

And before she knew it, Harry had his wand out, spouted something that again sounded Latin, and then she was hanging upside down in the air. She had the self control not to squeal, but couldn't hold back a shudder of surprise, and just as quickly she was being gently laid back down on her bed, the sheet pulling itself up over her. To show she was unfazed, she finished her sentence. "— that this isn't all some elaborate hoax." She paused. "Wow. Okay, so that was cool."

Harry smiled warmly. "Well, had I just summoned a bottle of some potion from across the room, you might have thought it was on strings."

"Indeed." They sat in silence once more.

When Camilia made as though to speak again, Harry beat her to the punch. "You want to know about werewolves."

"Yes. And giant spiders, and words that change by themselves, and purses that yank you out of train stations and land you in forests when you touch them! But most of all, I want to know how I did what I did out on your lawn."

"I know about werewolves, and even giant spiders, but the others are beyond me. Hang on; are you telling me you encountered Acromantulas in the forest?" stammered Harry.

"Acro-what?" asked Camilia. "If that's what you call giant spiders, then, yes."

"How – how did you escape them?" he inquired.

"I really couldn't tell you. One minute they were chasing me, and the next minute they were gone."

"Did you see anyone else in the forest, perhaps? Someone who might have stopped them?"

"I was running too fast to notice," said Camilia sarcastically. "Sorry," she grumped.

Harry began, "It's just that they don't – and come to think of it, neither do – " He sat contemplating a moment, but it was too long a moment for Camilia.

"Are you going to finish your sentence?" she goaded.

"Sorry. The Acromantulas…they should have kept coming. And that werewolf; they only come out – only _transform_, even – during a full moon." Harry seemed to turn his remunerations inward. He paused, thinking, and then shaking his head, continued. "As for the handbag you spoke of, it must have been a portkey, but what a portkey was doing in London where you'd happen upon it, or why it would take you to the Forbidden Forest…it must have been a mistake. Left for someone else, I mean."

"It couldn't have been a mistake," suggested Camilia. "The paper in it had my name on it, and knew that I was in the Forbidden Forest. It even knew to tell me to run from the Acrobatictarantulas and the werewolf."

It was this moment that Dumbledore chose to return, having left the three women at the other end of the ward. "What is sounds like to me," said Dumbledore, "and you will not understand much of this, but bear with me for a moment, my dear, is that you were placed in a position where you would inevitably find a portkey that would bring you here. Once the effects of the portkey wore off, you found the enchanted parchment. Someone knew who you were from the moment you arrived in King's Cross station. Before, even, since they'd have had to lay the trap for you. Perhaps they knew you were coming to England, or even arranged it for you so that you would come. And whoever it is, or whoever they are, more likely, it's also likely that they do not have your best interests at heart."

"Come again?" asked a bewildered Camilia.

"My dear girl, it seems we have much to discuss. Harry, if you would be so good as to return to your lessons, I believe I am fully capable of, shall we say, 'taking it from here'." And with that, he dismissed Harry with a wave of his hand.

Harry nodded, stole a final glance at Camilia, gave her a smile, sheepish smile and a slight shrug, and headed for the door. As he left the hospital wing, he thought to himself that he was grateful Dumbledore had said nothing about discussing his conversation with Camilia with his friends, because he had an awful lot to tell them.


	3. The Notorious Pritchards

**Chapter 3 – The Notorious Pritchards**

Ron sat back in his overstuffed chair in the Gryffindor common room and exclaimed, "Whoa," shaking his head. Hermione, on the other hand, was obviously more intent upon deciphering the meaning behind the day's occurrences.

"The Acromantulas stopped?" she repeated, as if to herself.

"Enough about spiders already, eh?" pleaded Ron. The last thing Ron Weasley ever wanted to talk about was spiders.

"The poor girl must be going out of her mind! I didn't know I was magical until shortly before I became eleven. I knew there was something different about me, of course, but nothing about the magical world. And for her to receive this sort of introduction! By the time I'd boarded the train for Hogwarts, I knew more than –"

"Most people would ever care to know," finished Ron.

"Just because you need me to complete your assignments, Ron –"

"I don't _need_ you to finish my assignments! It's just that _my_ idea of a good time doesn't include memorizing Hogwarts: A History, does it?" The color was rising in Ron's cheeks. Hermione wasn't about to let it go, however.

"You grew up with your dishes washing themselves, gnomes in your garden, and house elves cleaning up after you! I knew nothing about any of this until I was eleven!"

"I washed my own dishes, thank you very much, and I had to clear out the gnomes, and we don't own any house elves, Hermione!" retorted Ron with great finality, but Hermione still wasn't finished.

"You can't own house elves! They have rights just as other magical —"

Ron interrupted her with a comment in Harry's direction. "If she keeps on about this, Harry, I swear I'm going to _spew_." Hermione let out an enraged huff, and just as she was about to launch into another rant, Harry decided to step in.

"_Enough_, you two. May I remind you we were talking about Pritchard, _not_ about either of…" He stopped short when he noticed their horror-stricken faces. "What? What did I say?" he asked, bewildered.

"Did you say…" started Hermione.

"Pritchard?" finished Ron, with an odd sort of yelp generally reserved for arachnid encounters and when Harry said You-Know-Who's name.

"Well, it seems neither of you have gone deaf in the last quarter hour, then, doesn't it?" mused Harry. "Now, will someone please tell me what it has become so painfully clear that, yet again, I'm in the dark over?"

"Harry," began Hermione, "the Pritchards are…well, if you were to cross the infamous nature of Vol – Voldemort – with the reputable but wretchedly evil Malfoy family…there you go."

"I don't understand," said Harry, bemused.

"Geez, Harry, don't you read anything?" asked Ron, who then colored upon noting Hermione's "what-a-hypocrite" glare. "Look, the Pritchards were one of the most notorious, and wicked, wizarding families of the 17th century. They were also really rich...piles of Galleons and whatnot. They had the attitude of the Malfoys and the reputation of You-Know-Who. But everyone in the wizarding community knew what kind of people they were, and what sort of dark magic they practiced, so they decided to ship them out, overseas. There were boats heading to the Americas then, so in the middle of the night, a bunch of Aurors surrounded their mansion, stupefied all of them, every single one, and put them on two of the ships headed across the Atlantic. One of the ships never made it, and that was the ship Charles Pritchard's wife and kids on it. When he got to America, it was just him, his parents, and his last remaining brother…"

Hermione looked impressed. "How do you know all this, Ron?" she asked.

Ron colored once more. "It was a boogieman bedtime story my parents used to tell me – you know – if you're bad, the Pritchards will find you…"

"Sorry. Continue, then," she said simply.

"Well, this is where it gets sort of fuzzy for me. It was quite a spectacular bedtime story with I was growing up, of course, but I'm a little, uh, cloudy on the actual _facts_," he finished. He and Hermione stared at each other for a long moment, Ron daring Hermione to smirk and him, and Hermione trying her best not to smirk at Ron.

"Someone finish the story! Bloody hell!" exclaimed a frustrated Harry.

"Shall we consult our History of Magic textbook, then?" asked Hermione, and without waiting for an answer, pulled it from her book bag.

"Hermione, we don't even have History of Magic today!" grumbled Ron. "What are you carrying _that_ for?"

"You never know when you're going to need it, do you?" she retorted. Ron knew better than to challenge her on the point. As it was, they needed it now, so why bother arguing?

Hermione opened her book and began flipping through its pages. "If I remember correctly," she said, "it was somewhere around Chapter 127…" Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"Chapter 127? How many chapters _are_ there?" asked Ron, stunned.

"244," came Hermione's reply.

Harry gave Ron a sideways glance and said under his breath, "Looks like I have a bit of reading to catch up on." They chuckled, and then turned back to Hermione as she arrived at chapter 127.

"This is the one!" she said.

"All right, now it's my turn to ask – how could you possibly have remembered what chapter to look for? You really have memorized the whole book, haven't you?" asked Harry dubiously.

Hermione felt her face flush. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

Ron bowed his head magnanimously and pronounced their decision. "Continue."

She perched her book on her lap and settled in to her overstuffed chair.

"Chapter 127," she quoted, "The Pritchard Prophecy."

Dumbfounded, Harry asked, "Prophecy? What prophecy?"

She huffed impatiently. "May I continue?" Harry and Ron both nodded, and she began to read.

"Upon arriving in America, Charles Pritchard waited for the landing of his wife and children's ship. He waited weeks to no avail; the ship had sunk during a particularly nasty storm, no doubt due to an amount of mischief his children would have caused. When at last he realized they were not to arrive, his heart was hardened evermore against the wizarding community, and he decided at that time, as one having no descendents, he would build himself his own private army from the ground up.

"He chose a beautiful young pureblooded girl from amongst the wizarding populace in Massachusetts; her name was Charity Danforth, and she was, by all accounts, magnificent. She, however, had no desire to unite herself with him, and refused him at every turn. In his rage, he began to spread word amongst the Puritan Muggle community that a group of witches and wizards had settled in Salem alongside them, mocking them, their magical inabilities, and their beliefs. He made it clear that they had hidden themselves, and, for the sake of the community, would need to be rooted out, convicted of witchcraft, and done away with. The Protestant church encouraged the witch hunt and began to arrest, at his command, various witches and wizards from both Salem and the surrounding areas. Pritchard began to accuse not only those who were pureblood, mixed blood, and muggleborn, but also those Muggles who had in some way offended him.

"When he realized that the traditional Puritan method of witch disposal was burning at the stake, and that this would be insufficient to bring about the destruction of the wizarding community surrounding him, Pritchard suggested other means by which the Muggles could 'confirm' that an accused was indeed guilty of witchcraft, namely what became known as the 'water test.' An accused witch or wizard would be placed in open water, fully dressed in period garb, and told that if they were able to float, their affinity for witchcraft would be thereby proven. However, were they to sink and in so doing drown, they would be remembered henceforth as innocent of the 'crime' of witchcraft.

"Any student of witchcraft and wizardry might, at this point in the narrative, suggest the use of gillyweed to enable the accused to breathe underwater, however we must point out that Charles Pritchard owned the only supply of gillyweed in the Americas at this time, it being a magical plant native solely to Europe. Needless to say, Pritchard would not allow others near his store, and, upon accusing a witch or wizard of possessing their individual powers, would insist that anything, however distantly, resembling a wand was to be confiscated prior to that individual's trial. This prevented them from casting any spells that might assist them in surviving the water test.

"He also suggested what became known as 'pressing,' whereby the accused would be placed flat on his or her back and have a board laid across his or her chest. One by one, large and heavy stones were placed on the board, and the life was consequently 'pressed' from the individual until they confessed their crime. As Pritchard was the only individual present with a wand in hand, he made sure the accused did not open their mouths to speak during the pressing using a simple incantation, further discussed in Chapter 192.

"Pritchard grew more powerful, and with his power came a hunger for further dominance. He summarily had his parents and brother executed for the crime of witchcraft, and, as Ms. Danforth continued to refuse him, even, history dictates, when placed under the Imperius curse, Pritchard ensured that her family would also suffer death at the hands of the self-righteous Puritan Muggle Tribunal.

"Finally, at Danforth's trial, she was placed again under Imperious by Pritchard and made to confess to her crime. Due to her regular use of magic, it seems that the curse worked to if not great effect, enough effect to bring about a full confession. Pritchard volunteered to take Danforth in, seeing as she had no remaining family, and was hailed by the Puritans as a saint for his understanding and generosity toward one so wicked. He took her to him and married her without her consent; he also opted to consummate the marriage without consent, and ten months to the day, a male and female set of fraternal twins were born to the couple. Danforth, afraid of what her children would be forced to learn from their father, attempted on numerous occasions to place the children with other, distant families, attempted to go into hiding with her children, and attempted, history records, even to transfigure the children into animals and release them into the surrounding woods, all to no avail.

"Pritchard's anger soon reached a boiling point, and when a Danforth refused, for the last time, to tell Pritchard with which family she had placed their children, he cursed her with a curse that would impact their posterity; he promised her that no matter what her efforts might include, a son and daughter would be born to their son and daughter, and to their grandson and granddaughter, and so on down the line so that their bloodline would neither die out nor be infected by a less than pure bloodline. He effectively damned his own children to marrying one another, and their children, and their children's children, etc. Danforth, hoping to counter the curse, cast a spell that, though she could not entirely undo what had been done by her husband, would eventually end his tyrannical reign and that of his children. She sealed with her own blood the counter-curse: that one day, there would be a child born with no sibling to continue the marriage cycle. It is not clear whether she intended a twin to expire before its time, or whether a child would be born without a twin, but this in inconsequential, really. In order to seal the counter-curse, Danforth gave all her blood by opening a space between her ribs, and died minutes later."

At this point, Harry felt a need to interrupt. "She killed herself? I didn't realize this story was going to end with such gore."

"Ah, but we're not at the end yet." Hermione stated. "Do you want me to finish?" Harry shrugged, and Hermione continued.

"The line did indeed continue until 1988, when Robert and Regina Pritchard gave birth not to twins, but to a single daughter – the last of the Pritchard line. (Please note: out of respect for said daughter, her name has not been and will not be issued in this textbook.) Shortly after the girl's third birthday, her parents left her with a neighbor to visit friends in another American state, and were killed in an automobile collision by an intoxicated Muggle. The girl became a ward of the state, and has been so ever since.

"It is said that The Boy Who Lived…"

"Wait, I'm in this book?" asked Harry.

"You're in _every_ book, Harry," replied Hermione.

"What do you mean, _every_?" he spluttered.

"Do you _ever_ do your homework?" she chided. "You may be part of current wizarding history, but you _are_ history, you know. Now, may I finish?"

"There's more?" queried Ron.

"Just one more paragraph. Here: 'It is said that The Boy Who Lived would likely find the girl to be his nemesis, thanks to the following: Shortly before the girl's birth, a prophecy was demanded of the Oracle at Delphi by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had become familiar with an unknown prophecy from an unknown Seer, and was apparently worried that he might be defeated, so he pressed the Oracle for a prophecy that might direct him in his attainment of further power. The prophecy, well-known in the wizarding world, is recorded as follows and has been assumed to point at the remaining female of the Pritchard line:

_A rise to power may be preceded_

_By a fall from grace_

_But a chance you may have to overcome_

_If you search His race._

_She will as a cancer spread your power_

_Ever far and wide._

_If you take Her to yourself as your own_

_You will change the tide._

_A word of caution must be spoken now:_

_Should She reject you_

_You have more to fear than a loss of strength;_

_I must tell you true:_

_Your Enemy may then offer death and_

_Though you try to win_

_There shall be no Offspring and you will see_

_The end ushered in._

"Poor Camilia," sighed Hermione.

"Poor Camilia?" raved Ron. "If that prophecy is true, poor us! She could be, what did they call her? 'A cancer that spreads You-Know-Who's power?' Bugger!"

"If that prophecy is true, Ron, and it really does point to her, Harry won't be the only one You-Know…uh…Vo — Voldemort is looking for. And based on what Harry told us a few minutes ago, I'd guess he already knows she's here."


	4. The Sorting Hat

**Chapter 4 – The Sorting Hat**

The next morning the Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The entire school was now aware of the presence of a new girl who could hold off a werewolf without the use of a wand, and they were all eager to catch sight of her. Harry realized that he was eager to catch sight of her _again_.

Breakfast had appeared, and Ron was busily gnawing on a sausage he'd stabbed with his fork, while Hermione was flipping through the _Daily Prophet_ looking for any acknowledgment of Camilia's sudden appearance at the school. Harry had just begun to tuck into a plate of scrambled eggs when the entire Great Hall was seized by a tangible silence. He, Ron and Hermione all turned to the entrance doors to see Camilia walk into the room and look desperately around for an inconspicuous seat. She did not realize when her eyes alighted upon Harry that she could not have chosen a _more_ conspicuous seat for breakfast.

She strode over to Harry, exuding a false confidence, wearing the same jeans and shirts as the day before, although they had been thoroughly cleaned by Madam Pomfrey before she discharged Camilia. She had a noticeably American in sense of style, as even on weekends a female student at Hogwarts would not have been found wearing a long-sleeved thermal top underneath a tiny, multi-colored printed t-shirt reading "Jamaica Welcomes You." She was also wearing a rather garish silver and white pair of trainers, and sported a sprayed-on tan.

All eyes in the Great Hall watched Camilia cross the room to Harry Potter, already famous himself. She asked Neville Longbottom, seated next to Harry, if he would mind "scootching over a little" so she could sit down, and after blinking hard at her two or three times, he willingly and wordlessly obliged. Harry wondered if Neville's behavior was due to his innate fear of girls, his surprise that one had spoken to him of her own accord, or her very out-of-place manner of dress, but when he noticed that Ron had stopped nibbling at his sausage to gape openly at her, he realized that Neville must have recognized her for the oddly beautiful young woman she was. Her features were relatively unremarkable, but her deep brown eyes, streaked, swishy hair, and gentle curves combined with her knack for knowing what style suited her made her stunning.

She asked Harry how he slept, explained that she'd had a rather sleepless night without Harry's returning the inquiry, and proceeded to introduce herself first to Hermione, then Neville, then Ron in turn. Hermione seemed pleased at her attentions, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Camilia had dealt with other "territorial" females previously, and knew how to get on their good sides without appearing too suck up.

A plate and goblet appeared before Camilia, and she helped herself to a healthy portion of eggs and sausage while she asked the group where all the food had come from. Hermione felt this an ideal opportunity to introduce Camilia to the plight of house elves and proceeded to explain all about S.P.E.W., the organization she had formed to protect elvish rights. Camilia, still amazed by the magical world to which she'd been introduced not one day earlier, listened intently to Hermione's ramblings, fascinated by the idea that there were small magical creatures roaming the castle, unseen and content to care for all the castle's inhabitants. Hermione might have continued indefinitely, her enraptured single-person audience entirely missing the point, had Professor Dumbledore not suddenly stood to address the students.

"You have all no doubt noticed that we have been joined by a young lady that we have last night chosen to accept as a new student here at Hogwarts. As is the custom at Hogwarts, she will now be sorted into a House and will remain in that house for the balance of her stay here. Professor McGonagall!" he called, and she appeared from the staff entrance at the front of the Hall, carrying with her a stool and an old, worn hat with a large tear just above the brim. She placed the stool in the center of the floor a few feet in front of the podium from which Dumbledore had spoken, and set the hat upon it. Meanwhile, Dumbledore took up his seat and waited patiently for her to call upon his new student to be sorted.

"Pritchard, Camilia," pronounced McGonagall.

A collective gasp went up from the assembled students, followed by frenzied whispers, and even a muffled scream. Camilia appeared to have somehow expected this reaction, and rose from the table anyway. She paused briefly to ask Harry in a whisper, "What House are you in?" He told her, and she made her way to the front of the room pretending, though visibly less effectively, to be just as confident as when she'd entered the Great Hall earlier.

She reached the stool, from which McGonagall had removed the hat, and sat down upon it as the students were silenced by an especially stern look from McGonagall. She placed the hat on Camilia's head, and immediately the Sorting Hat began to speak into her ear. "Let's see, what do we have here? Oh my, power, yes...ambition, lots of it...and cunning, mmm."

Camilia started. Was the Hat talking to her in her head, or could everyone hear what it was saying? Looking around and seeing that no one seemed to have heard a word, she took a second to compose herself and then silently asked a question, not expecting an answer.

"Uh...what about…" Suddenly she could not remember the name of the House Harry had told her. "What house is Harry in?"

"Gryffindor? Oh, no, no, no, that's not for you. Brave you are, but you are not one to call the Lion's Den home. Slytherin would be a very nice fit."

"Slither. Not a big snake fan, gotta tell ya." Knowing that know one else could hear the Hat speak to her, Camilia relaxed considerably. "What are my other options?"

The Hat debated a moment, and then continued. "A Hufflepuff you could be, but you'd have to work hard for the right reasons. You are loyal, indeed, but not terribly dedicated. However, you are prone to making your wants and desires known, a strong Slytherin quality."

"But there's a fourth House, right? Which one is that?" she asked hopefully.

"Ravenclaw might suit you, but you would find no satisfaction. Your wit would be better utilized in Salazar's House. No, my dear, Slytherin deserves you."

Camilia was not to be put off. "I want Harry's House."

"But you'd be far more comfortable in Slytherin…" began the Hat.

"Okay, but can't you put me in the Griffin one anyway?" she huffed.

"I fear it would be an unwise sorting," the Hat replied.

"So you're going to just stick me in with the snakes then?" she asked, teeth clenched, eyebrows raised.

"I will allow you to choose," grumbled the Hat, "but I still feel that Slytherin would be the better House for you."

"Then I want the Griffin one."

The Sorting Hat heaved a great sigh, and admonished her once more to select Slytherin as her House. She declined, and as the air between Camilia's head and the brim of the Hat was growing ever more warm and uncomfortable, the Hat relented. With some trepidation, the Sorting Hat announced her sorting: "Gryffindor!"

Its announcement was met not by the thunderous applause that generally took place, but by a polite sprinkling of claps throughout the assembled students. Camilia tentatively rose from her seat on the stool and made her way back to where she'd been sitting a few minutes before, between Harry and Neville. As soon as she'd taken up her seat, the students resumed their whispering and ruminating over the odd event that had just taken place.

From across the Great Hall, Malfoy gazed at Camilia as she returned to her seat, mildly disappointed that he would be forced to wait to introduce himself. His thoughts turned from her name, her striking appearance, and the odd taste she had in clothes, to wondering what might be the most effective way to complete the task his master had set forth. He watched with further displeasure as she sat down next to Pitiful Potter and decided then and there it was time to commence with his planning. Malfoy stood, excused himself from his companions with nary a word, and made his way quietly back to the Slytherin common room.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had approached the Gryffindor table to, albeit it rather stiffly, welcome Camilia into her House. She handed Camilia her class schedule, which would include a mixture of first and sixth year classes, and a session of private tutelage with Professor Dumbledore each week. She then explained that she had asked the house elves to assemble a set of robes for Camilia, and to collect the necessary toiletries for her until she could go to Hogsmeade to select her own robes and personal items. McGonagall also handed her a leather book bag containing parchment, quills, ink, and various other school supplies she'd be needing to complete the term. She explained that Camilia would be given a set of used textbooks, each coming from instructors.

Camilia listened to McGonagall as she shuffled around her school supplies and then asked cautiously, "Is there a wand in here?"

McGonagall looked severe, and said, between lips so tight they seemed to have disappeared, "It seems Professor Dumbledore believes you can perform all the magic you'll need to know _sans_ wand, so you'll not be needing one."

Camilia nodded, but all the students around her who had overheard McGonagall's statement looked scandalized. "How can she learn magic without a wand?" Ron heard himself blurt out.

"Mr. Weasley, I'll thank you not to question the Headmaster's demands, and to keep your opinions quite to yourself!" snapped McGonagall, and she turned on her heel and left in a huff.

Ron looked abashed. "I didn't offer an opinion, I was just asking –"

"It's okay, Ron, she's just pissed off that Albus is letting me stay. This whole Pritchard thing has her freaked out…and everyone else too, I assume," she finished as she saw an indecipherable expression cross their faces.

"It's not the Pritchard thing, Camilia," said Hermione. "I think it's just that we've never even heard the staff call Professor Dumbledore by his first name."

"Albus?" Camilia asked. "Oh – well – he just told me to – well – okay, then, at least it's not me freaking everybody out," she mused.

They all sat in an awkward silence for a moment until finally Hermione saved the day. "Look at the time! I need to go return a book to the library before Herbology! Ron, did you ever take back that Divination book?"

"What Divination book?" he asked blankly.

"_The one you have to return_," she said between clenched teeth.

Ron looked at her for a moment, then looked at Harry and Camilia. "OH!" he said. "_That_ Divination book. Right. Well, see you blokes in Herbology," he mumbled as Hermione dragged him off to the library.

"In a hurry to leave, were they?" Camilia observed to Harry.

"Yeah. Uh, Madam Pince can be quite the bear when books are returned late…" his voice trailed off. He paused for a moment, and then said, "So." He paused, thinking of something to say. "Shall I show you where the Gryffindor common room is, then? Of course, you'll need Hermione to take you to your room in the girls' dormitory, but at least I can give you the password and get you –"

"Sounds fabulous," she said, cutting him off. She motioned around the Hall to all the students still sneaking peeks at her and noted, "I'd kill to get away from all this…everyone staring at me is driving me nuts."

_I know the feeling_, thought Harry as they rose to leave_. More than you can possibly imagine_.


	5. Turning Over a New Leaf

**Chapter 5 – Turning Over a New Leaf**

With the exception of Camilia's accidentally burning a hole through one of Professor Sprout's workbenches, her first magic lesson was relatively uneventful. Hermione repaired the workbench with a simple spell, and Camilia's embarrassment subsided when she saw Dean do almost the same thing; he had also apparently not realized that the sap from a Scrugulus Masonis had a tendency to burst into flames when it came into contact with either wood or paper.

Harry, Ron and Hermione pointed Camilia to Care of Magical Creatures while they headed to their Advanced Potions class, and Ron, glancing back toward Hagrid's hut, said quietly to Harry, "She's something, isn't she?"

Though he'd not meant for Hermione to hear him, heard she had. "Is that all boys ever think about? How attractive a girl is? What about admiring her brains or her sense of humor or –"

"What makes you think I was talking about how attractive Camilia is? Couldn't I have been commenting on her sense of humor? How do you even know I was talking about her? I could have been talking about what a fine teacher Professor Sprout is, couldn't I?" demanded Ron.

"Well, _were_ you?" demanded Hermione.

"I – well, _no_, but – I could have been!" retorted Ron, angry at having been caught.

"_I_ think she's brilliant," said Hermione. "Perhaps she should have read about Scrugulus sap more carefully, but nonetheless, she's got a great mind. See? _I _don't have to go on about how good looking she is," she huffed.

Ron turned to Harry directly and said under his breath, "Well, she wouldn't, would she?" Harry chuckled, and the three continued to Potions.

That night, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Camilia were sitting together in the Common Room, discussing their Charms homework. Even Hermione had been staggered by Camilia's ability to correctly put out a small fire on her first try, and even more astonished by the fact that the water with which Camilia had put out the fire had come from her _hands_ rather than a wand.

"Do you think you could produce the water without saying the incantation?" she inquired of Camilia.

"I don't know, I've never tried. Shall we see?" She thrust her hands toward the Common Room fire ten feet away…and nothing happened. Again, palms outstretched, mind focused, the spell was attempted…to no avail. Then she tried pointing only her fingertips, thinking the most commanding thoughts she could conjure…with no result. Finally, angry and feeling part ridiculous, part incompetent, she clenched her fists, strengthened her resolve, and tried again. The reward was…nothing. Exasperated, she yelled "Argh!" and threw her right hand in the direction of the fire. A powerful jet of water seemed to spring from her hand, dousing the fire immediately, and, to the great amusement of the older Gryffindors, drenching a small group of second years in the line of fire. "Oops," said Camilia. "I think it's time for me to hit the sack, what about you, Hermione?"

"I'll be up to join you momentarily."

Camilia rose from her seat, stifling a giggle as she glanced over her shoulder at the second years wringing themselves out, and then made her way up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Hermione waited until she'd left the room, and then rose from her chair and crossed to the second years, performing a quick drying spell. When she returned, Ron said more than asked, "What'd you do that for? That was hilarious!"

"I'm a _prefect_, Ron, and so are you," she scolded him. Hermione's voice dropped down a bit and she finished quietly, "She could have at least apologized," then loaded her book bag, slung it over her shoulder, and followed Camilia up to the dormitories above.

"Well," ventured Ron as he, too, collected his books, preparing to retire, "I have mixed feelings about all this, I must say."

"Mixed feelings about what?" asked Harry.

"I thought the soaking the second years was brilliant, but Hermione obviously did _not_. Looks like she and Camilia may have, well, different views on things…and Hermione doesn't like when anyone has different ideas. Then again, they've gotten along so far, right?" And with that, he also headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, leaving Harry alone to contemplate the consequences that Camilia's presence might yet have on his, Ron and Hermione's threesome of friends. Eventually, though, he shrugged his shoulders and went upstairs to bed himself.

The weekend had been more or less uneventful; Ron, Harry, and Hermione had shown Camilia about the school, helped her to complete some of her first year homework (with not a few grumbles from Camilia at having been made to cover remedial coursework), practiced various spells with one another, and just generally spent their time filling in Camilia on all that intricacies of life at Hogwarts and in the wizarding community.

When Monday arrived and it came time for Camilia to go on her own to her first year History of Magic class, she again bemoaned her remedial fate. "This is ridiculous! I could read the book cover to cover and get more out of it than I ever could listening to that Binns ghost drone on and on! At least if I was in _our_ year's History of Magic, I could hang out with you guys. Instead, I get to sit around with a bunch of gossipy first years who don't even pretend not to be talking about me!"

"That may well be true, Camilia, but you do get to have Professor Dumbledore as your private tutor this evening. I'd give my left arm for what he could teach," remarked Hermione.

"Yeah, that's great and all, if you want to learn to, I don't know, conjure butterflies," replied Camilia, ignoring the horrified faces of her friends, "but do you have _any_ idea how irritating it is to be talked about by a gaggle of eleven year-olds while you sit there? And they're all terrified of me!"

"They're not terrified," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Oh, yeah?" scoffed Camilia. "Watch this." With that, she snuck up behind a group of first year Ravenclaws standing nearby, then leaned over into the group and said simply, "Boo." The Ravenclaws scattered, screaming. Camilia ambled back over to Harry, Ron and Hermione with a look of "I-told-you-so" pasted on her face.

"It's just an hour," said Hermione hopefully.

"And if it gets too unbearable, do what I do in History of Magic," Ron interjected. "Take a nap. Can't beat it for an after-breakfast snooze!"

They all laughed and waved their goodbyes as Harry, Ron and Hermione went off to sixth year Astronomy and Camilia set out for Binns' class. Surprisingly, Camilia found that no one was discussing her in History of Magic; it seemed that the Ravenclaws had spread that word that she was not above scaring the wits out of the first years, so the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years present were absolutely silent during class and would not even allow themselves a glance in her direction on the off chance she might perhaps turn them to stone with her bare hands. As a result, she found that Ron was right: History of Magic was the ideal place for a post-breakfast nap.

Camilia was awakened by the sound of chair legs scraping against stone floor and forgot for a moment where she was. She looked around at the multitude of eleven year-olds heading for the door, and scooped up her book bag, which she'd opened, but from which she'd never bothered to retrieve her textbook. She shook her head once to clear it from the stupor left by her nap and made for the door, looking back over her shoulder to try to ascertain if she'd left anything behind…and then she slammed headlong into something, not paying attention to where she was going, and fell backward onto the floor, dropping her book bag, its contents spilling onto the floor around her. "I'm – I'm sorry," she said without looking up. "I wasn't paying…" and her voice trailed off as she looked into the handsome face of a tall blond boy.

"Attention?" he finished for her.

"Oh, right," she concluded. "Sorry about that."

"Hand up?" he asked her, and she nodded, so he grasped her hand with his and helped to hoist her back to a standing position. She stooped again to finish collecting her books when he stopped her. "No, please, allow me," he drawled, and with a flick of his wand, all her books flew into the air and landed softly into her book bag. "I wasn't paying any attention, myself. Sorry about that."

"No, it's okay, I –"

"The name's Draco Malfoy," he said by way of introduction.

"Oh. Yeah. Nice to meet you, Draco, I'm –"

"Camilia Pritchard, I know. Of the pureblooded Boston wizarding family, last of the line," he interrupted.

"Wow. What, you want an autograph or something?" she snapped, not knowing whether to be flattered or frustrated.

"Excuse me?" asked Draco, trying to hold back his anger at her rudeness.

"No…excuse me…I'm sorry, it's just so strange to have all these people know things about me that I didn't know myself until, like, ten minutes ago. So, you've heard of Boston?"

"Been there, actually. It's been a few years now, but my family and I have traveled extensively. We'd actually gone to visit Salem; historical significance, you know."

"Oh, right. Well…I'd better be getting to my next class. Draco, right?"

"Yes. Can I – can I walk you there?" he asked, his eyes alight with something dark and primal.

"Yeah, but…didn't you need to talk to Binns or something?" she wondered aloud to him.

"Oh, no, I just thought I'd left something in here." Draco peered around the door, made a quick, cursory sweep of the room, and then said, "I was wrong. So, then, where to?"

"Don't you have a class or something right now?" she asked.

"I do, but I've been looking for a reason to skive off it; I hate Care of Magical Creatures," he answered.

"Yeah, me too…if Hagrid weren't teaching it, I'd ditch it daily."

"Oh, yeah," said Draco, unsure how to respond to Camilia's obvious affinity for Hagrid. "So, like I said, where are we going?"

"Basic Potions," said Camilia. "More adventures among the first years." She paused for a moment. "Hey, if you're planning on ditching Creatures anyway, maybe I'll skip Potions, too, and you can tell me more about your trip to Salem. It'd be nice to talk to someone who knows where I'm coming from when I talk about Boston, anyway."

Draco smiled; the first leg of his plan had come off flawlessly, just as he'd expected it would. "Certainly. And I know just the place to go in order not to be caught. There's this room on the seventh floor; it's called the Room of Requirement…" And off they went, chatting about this and that, Draco using every ounce of charm he could muster, and Camilia trying to calm the flip-flops her stomach made every time he looked her in the eye.

"Malfoy?" stammered Ron when they were back in the Common Room that evening. "Why on _earth_ would you want to spend time with _that_ prat?" he asked in disbelief.

"What are you talking about? He wasn't bad at all. In fact, he was fascinating, we had loads in common, and he's pretty hot," stated Camilia.

"_Malfoy_?" blurted an incredulous Harry while Ron made retching noises. "You think Draco Malfoy is _attractive_?"

"Why not?" demanded Camilia, suddenly becoming irritable.

"Because he's a prat," shrugged Hermione. "The only time I've ever seen him be nice is when he wants something, really. Like if he – "

"Wanted to get under your skirt!" Ron cried.

"It wasn't like that, Ron," Camilia protested. "He was really nice, and we just talked about Boston, where I'm from, and he told me about visiting Salem, and that's where my forebears were from, so I was interested. Cut him some slack; it's not like he tried to molest me or anything!"

"But he – I can't believe – you can't – argh!" yelled Ron, who threw up his hands. "I – I can't talk about this anymore! Hermione, tell me about something useless and inane that you read in Hogwarts: A History or something. My brain is on overload."

"_Useless and inane_?" quoted Hermione. "Ron! How could you say that! That book is _not_ useless and –"

"I think I've had enough for tonight, thank you very much. I'm going to bed," said Camilia. "Goodnight, Harry, goodnight, Hermione, and Ron…" She paused. "Grow up." And with that, she stormed up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

"Grow up?" he yelled after her. "_Grow up_?" Ron was beside himself. "I'm not the one who went frolicking with _Draco Malfoy_ today! Grow up."

"You're just mad that she's not attracted to _you_, Ron," Hermione interjected. She knew when she saw the look on his face that that was not the right thing to have said just then. Ron was turning absolutely purple with rage.

"_If-I-open-my-mouth-I'll-never-be-able-to-forgive-myself-for-what-I'd-say-so-I'm-going-up-to-bed-right-now, damn-it!"_ Ron, too, stormed up the stairs to the dormitories.

"Shouldn't've said that just then, should I?" mumbled Hermione. "Probably won't be talking to either of us tomorrow, will he?"

"I wouldn't count on it," concluded Harry.

"Seriously, though, Malfoy may be a prat, but I can see the attraction. He can be charming, when he wants too, he's rich, he's handsome, he's powerful…And maybe he likes her. Maybe he's trying harder because he's interested?" she surmised.

Harry contemplated this for a moment. "Or, maybe he's got something up his sleeve. Can't imagine Malfoy turning over a new leaf." He and Hermione looked at each other a long moment, and when he realized she had no more to say, he ventured, "Potions homework?"


	6. Christmas at the Burrow

Chapter 6 – Christmas at the Burrow

Hermione had been right; Ron did not speak to either her or Camilia the next day, but by Wednesday, he and Hermione were old friends again. It took a bit longer to smooth things over with Camilia, however; not because she refused to speak to _him_, but because he refused to speak to _her_. As far as Ron was concerned, defending Malfoy, or even speaking to him, was a cardinal sin. He didn't come around until Thursday evening, at which time he attempted once again to badmouth Malfoy. Camilia, meanwhile, had apparently spent quite a bit of time with Malfoy the last three days and both flatly and stubbornly refused to hear a single word about what Ron called his "true nature" because he'd been nothing but pleasant, agreeable, charismatic, and fun. Ron was not taking it well.

"How could such a prat do such a grand job at pretending to be so lovable?" he spat.

"She's said herself," sighed Hermione, "That she's quite the obstinate American, and I certainly don't want to incur her wrath, so I guess we'll just have to let her make her own mistake."

"Nail her own coffin, more like," he mumbled.

The days sped by thanks to massive course loads, Quidditch practices, (Camilia showed no interest in sports, so Hermione was glad to have a friend while the other two were out chasing Quaffles and Snitches,) and new friendships. Camilia had joined the school at the start of October, and suddenly it was nearly Christmas. Camilia had no place to call her own, having been inadvertently displaced from the home in Boston, let alone a place to go for the holidays, and as Harry preferred the Weasley home to the Dursley home and would be heading there for the holidays, the Weasleys decided to invite the whole lot of them. Hermione who opted for the Weasley's rather than the opportunity to accompany her parents to the Swiss Alps for a Christmas ski trip.

They left the castle for Hogsmeade on the afternoon of the 23rd, levitating their trunks along with them. Camilia, who had no trunk, had allowed Hermione to bewitch her book bag to be able to accommodate all she'd need for the holiday and had slung it over her shoulder, letting Harry pronounce a quick weightlessness spell as she did so. They arrived at the Three Broomsticks cold and snow-covered, eager to warm up with a round of Butterbeer and step into a toasty fireplace to whisk them to the Weasley's via Floo powder.

Camilia had had neither the opportunity to drink Butterbeer nor to experience travel by Floo, but as soon as she'd tasted the former, she was a changed woman. "Ooooh," she sighed with the first swig, "this is my new favorite." She did not fancy travel by Floo in quite the same way, and Harry understood her dislike of that hot, spun-to-quickly feeling in the pit of one's stomach that Floo travel produced.

Ron had arrived home first, followed by Ginny, both of whom were thrilled to see their parents, then by Hermione so that Camilia could watch once more. Camilia followed and, to her dismay, began to dry-heave after she stumbled gracelessly out of the fireplace. Harry came through last, and though he had managed to keep his stomach, he understood Camilia's woes.

Once she had finished retching, she blotted her face with her scarf, took three deep breaths with her eyes closed, and then opened her eyes, smiled warmly at the Weasleys, and gave Mrs. Weasley a daughter's hug. At first, Molly Weasley seemed taken aback, but all her son had told her about this strange young American flooded back to her mind, and she hugged her in return.

They spent the rest of the evening settling in and enjoyed a large pork roast that Molly had prepared for dinner. As they sat round the table sharing stories of their educational adventures over the last few months, Camilia began to weep uncontrollably. All conversation ceased, and the table's occupants stared at her uncomfortably for a moment. Mrs. Weasley reached across Harry and patted her on the shoulder as she said, "My dear girl, whatever is the matter?"

Camilia took a deep, hitching breath and blurted out, "I've – I've just never seen a family have dinner together before! It's so – so sweet! Like a fairy tale!" and she began to cry afresh. Everyone at the table glanced around at each other, began to chuckle, and then began to laugh outright, and when Camilia realized that they were not laughing at her but at the unconscious charm of her statement, her tears subsided and she laughed right along with them.

After dinner, Ginny, Hermione and Camilia headed up to Ginny's room where they'd all sleep. Mr. Weasley had bewitched it earlier to cause it to double in size so they could all be quite comfortable. Ginny protested that it should be left that way, and Mr. Weasley tittered at the suggestion and wished them all a good night. Harry and Ron retired to Ron's room, and Ron protested that his room should be doubled in size as well, at which time Mr. Weasley's titter became a chortle, and he wished them good night, as well.

Christmas Eve brought home Fred and George, proud as ever of their flourishing new business in Diagon Alley, Bill, on two day's vacation from Gringott's, and Charlie, which, considering he'd not three days prior been chasing a herd of Chinese Luck Dragons out of a Japanese province, was a wonderful surprise to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The only family member missing, it turned out, was Percy. It could have been argued that he'd wanted to spend Christmas with his family, but since everyone knew that if he dared show his face without immediately launching into a grand apology for his behavior his brothers would hex him into oblivion, Percy was not present.

A merry time was had by all as they made preparations for the next day, though none more merry than that had by Harry and Camilia; neither had been fond of Christmas growing up, as Harry's best Christmas gift from the Dursleys had been a crumpled piece of tin foil when he was four years old, and Camilia spent Christmases in a home that celebrated neither birthdays nor holidays.

The next morning, Harry woke to a mound of gifts at the end of his trundle bed. "'Morning!" said Ron brightly, ripping through the paper on what appeared to be the last gift in his own stack. "Dragon skin Quidditch gloves! Charlie must've been feeling generous this year!" he exclaimed.

Harry, always amazed at the sight of gifts intended for him, began opening his as well, but unlike his best friend, he savored each tear he made in the decorative paper surrounding his gifts, and spent a considerable amount of time admiring each item.

"Oy, thanks for the broom grip, Harry," said Ron.

"What are best mates for?" he grinned. "And thank you for the…the… what is this, Ron?" he stammered, looking down at the miniscule metal ball in his hands.

"It's a micro-snitch, what do you think?" asked Ron, exasperatedly. "They're what the international Seekers use to practice; harder to find than your standard-issue snitch, so it's supposed to be excellent practice."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, smiling appreciatively. Harry next opened a very expensive editor's pen from Hermione, which would correct his spelling, grammar, and punctuation for him, followed by a gold wand rest studded with rubies from Ginny, with a note about it reminding her of Godric Gryffindor's sword. Harry felt his stomach do a few somersaults and looked slyly at Ron to see if he'd noticed. He hadn't. He then opened his gift from Camilia, a fancy pair of Muggle dress socks. He remembered a conversation he'd had with her toward the beginning of December.

"They weren't _that_ bad. I remember one Christmas they gave me some bathroom tissue, and once I received one of Uncle Vernon's holey socks. Okay, they _were_ that bad," he had laughed.

"They didn't even give you the pair?" she asked incredulously, hiding her amusement. "What a bunch of stingy prats!" She then burst out laughing. "Harry, someday you'll get a _pair_ of socks, _sans_ holes, I promise."

And here they were; they were quite soft, black and tan with small diamond shapes covering them. He was impressed. It seemed the American had taste after all.

Ron looked over at the socks Harry was holding. "Socks! And Muggle socks, no less! Who on earth gave you socks, Harry?" Ron had believed that one could only receive socks from one's mother.

"Camilia."

"She gave you _socks_?" he asked, intimating that something else, _any_thing else, would have been preferable to a pair of Muggle socks.

"You – well – you had to be there, I suppose," Harry responded.

"Right. Sure," said Ron, still baffled that Harry would defend a gift of Muggle socks.

Harry finished opening his presents, donned his new sweater from Mrs. Weasley, waited until Ron had left the room and slipped on Camilia's socks, and then headed down to breakfast. He was the last one to the table.

"Good Morning, Harry, and Happy Christmas!" boomed a gleeful Mr. Weasley.

"Happy Christmas," replied Harry.

A chorus of "Happy Christmas"es rose from the rest of the room's occupants. Harry responded with another "Happy Christmas," and sat down next to Mr. Weasley.

"Thanks ever-so-much for the…what do you call it, Harry? Bender?"

"Blender," Harry corrected him.

"Blender, yes," repeated Mr. Weasley. "Fabulous item, this," he said as he continued disassembling it.

Harry received hugs all around from Hermione, Camilia, and Ginny, but when Ginny hugged him, he felt his stomach leap into his throat and could only stammer "Christmas" in return for her thanks and her generosity.

Camilia was beside herself with excitement; although the elder Weasley boys had never been introduced to her, they'd each purchased her a gift anyway, knowing she would be present for Christmas, and so Camilia's haul was extraordinary. She had disappeared upstairs after breakfast to try on the dress robes Hermione had bought her, and the elder Weasley boys were now sitting in the living room discussing her in hushed tones. Harry caught brief snatches of the conversation, but chose to stay out of it because he didn't think he could look her in the face if he participated in a conversation about her well-proportioned figure. Ron, however, had to throw in his two cents, and interrupted Fred and George's running commentary on her bosom with "Don't even try. She has a thing for Draco Malfoy."

The boys were stunned. "_Draco_?" started Fred.

"_Malfoy_?" finished George.

"You must be kidding," stammered Bill.

"Not," replied Ron.

"But he's – he's – he's a –" began Fred.

"_Malfoy_!" concluded George.

"I know," said Ron.

"What a waste," said Charlie. "All that leg, and for what? For a Malfoy. What's the world coming to?" he pondered.

"And she prefers Malfoy to you, Ron," teased George.

"How does that make you feel, little brother?" razed Fred.

Harry decided to step in. "Ron has interests elsewhere, gentlemen."

"And I'm guessing that where those interests are is upstairs right now with Ginny and Camilia, eh, Ron?" added Bill.

"Shut up!" Ron said, coloring.

"Brilliant comeback," said Fred.

"As always," George continued.

"How about you, Harry," asked Bill, "kicking yourself over Malfoy stealing Camilia's attention?"

"Not at all," said Harry. Though he did find Camilia beautiful, he had other interests. He only hoped no one would think to ask. He was wrong.

"You must be interested in someone else, then," stated Charlie.

"Perhaps," said Harry, "and perhaps not."

"Cryptic," said George.

"Quite," added Fred.

Charlie smirked, and then asked, "Hey, Bill, do we have any Veritaserum left from our supply?"

"I'm not about to tell you here, my dear brother; more fun to keep Harry guessing. Doubt he'll have a drink all weekend that way!" Bill and Charlie smiled at one another, and then shifted their gaze to Harry, who was squirming in his chair. They both burst out laughing, and after a few moments, Harry caught wind of the joke and chuckled himself, hoping against hope that they were indeed just kidding and did not truly have any Veritaserum hidden in the house.

The rest of the Christmas holidays passed without incident, and none of the Weasleys or their guests would have thought to worry except that the ministry sent Aurors by twice a day to check on the family. Soon enough, though, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Camilia and Ginny were all safely back at Hogwarts, readying themselves for the next few months of studying.

It was on the second day back that it happened.

Tuesday morning, Camilia managed to catch Malfoy's eye while they ate breakfast in the Great Hall. He glared at her for just a moment, and then returned to his porridge. She sat in stunned silence still holding her fork fully two minutes later until Malfoy rose from his table and strode for the door. She stood quickly, dropping her fork, and made a dash for the door, hoping to intercept him before he reached the hall to the dungeons where the Slytherin Common Room was. He was crossing the entrance hall when she caught hold of his arm and he spun to face her.

"What do you want," he snapped coldly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"To know what your problem is, Draco," said Camilia.

"My problem? _My_ problem?" he asked angrily.

"Yes! Your problem! Because _I_ haven't got one!" she responded, just as angrily.

Malfoy's speech had been well-rehearsed, and he launched into it. "My problem is that you go off with Potter and Weasley, and all the time you're gone I hear from the Slytherins about how you're undoubtedly having, shall we say, a 'fabulous time' with the two of them, and then you come back and don't even say hello. So you want Weasley, do you? Or is it Potter-the-celebrity you're after? Well, you can have them." Malfoy turned to leave, but Camilia held out her hands and he was instantly immobilized, lifted through the air, and returned to the spot where he'd been standing moments before. Malfoy had not expected this turn of events, and was busily reviewing his options. Suddenly the entrance hall was filling with students who had noticed blue energy coming from outside the Great Hall, Ron, Harry, and Hermione among them. He conceded that this showdown would have to be more public than he'd originally planned, and steeled himself to appear weak.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Draco. For heaven's sake, I was invited to the Weasleys because I had no place else to go. Your mom sure as hell didn't send me an invitation, so where was I supposed to go? Huh? I did NOT get with either Ron or Harry, and I didn't say hello, you stupid prat, because I was busy trying to get your now-belated Christmas present together and I didn't want you to know about it! Happy!" she practically screamed.

"So you didn't hook up with Potter?" Malfoy yelled back.

"No, I didn't hook up with Harry!" she retorted. "We've talked about this before! He's not my type, and he has other interests! You know that!" Harry, standing next to Ron and Hermione, suddenly had a large number of eyes turned toward him and he felt his face go scarlet.

"Or Ron?" demanded Malfoy.

"Dammit, Draco, no! What's with the jealousy? It's you that I want! It's you that I thought about every second that I didn't get to see you! So quit it already!" Camilia was furious.

"Would you please let me down now?" growled Draco, mentally battling the humiliation of being stuck in the air.

"Fine!" yelled Camilia. With that, he dropped six inches to the ground, looked around at the crowd that had gathered, then back at Camilia, willing himself to apologize.

"I'm – I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too," she replied.

And, without warning, he wrapped one arm around her back, one around her shoulders with his hand in her hair, and pulled her to him in a long, deep kiss.

The girls in the crowd sighed, and the many boys whistled, excluding, perhaps, Harry and Ron and a few other Gryffindor boys. Harry turned away, shaking his head, and Ron made retching noises at Harry's side until Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "I think it's sweet," she scolded Ron.

"She would," Ron said sideways to Harry, rolling his eyes, and with that, he turned and strode up the stairs toward the Gryffindor common room.


	7. Pure Blood

Chapter 7 – Pure Blood

She was standing on the edge of a cliff, daring herself to leap off into the sea or just drop onto the rocks below. Her long dark hair was billowing in the wind as she wept, struggling desperately with the decision to either commit or turn away. Her clothes were unfamiliar; she wore a long mahogany gown that skimmed the ground and met her wrists, and could feel the stiff lace scratch at her throat. Could she have seen herself, she'd have been astounded by just how stunning she was, but her thoughts were so mournful and grief-stricken, she no longer noticed her own tears streaming down her face.

She stepped forward, hesitated, and then pulled back once more from the cliff. Time sped up, and she was racing up a flight of creaking wooden stairs in a small cabin-like home, and suddenly flinging parchment and books to and fro, searching, searching for one…she did not know which…and then she had it. The book was opened, the spell was found, and time vanished.

She was amongst the trees, lost in the wood. The book was open, and nearby was a flaming rock glowing green. She held a knife in her hand. It was an old wooden-handled kitchen knife, and the eerie firelight flickered a reflection on its blade. She knew what she had to do.

It seemed she stepped outside of herself and watched. The woman before her thrust the blade into her side between her ribs, never nearing bone, and reached into the wound to open it wide, allowing her own blood to gush into her hands. At the same time, she leaned forward and fell onto the rock, pressing her hands on the stone's surface as the flames engulfed her body. She was chanting something, she couldn't make out or understand what it was as she watched herself (_her ancestor_) be consumed by the blaze. And then Charity looked directly at her, into her eyes, staring so fiercely and yet so tenderly…and immediately vanished in a cloud of ash. And Camilia began to scream.

Hermione grabbed her wand from under her pillow and leapt from her bed, struggled briefly with the long velvet curtains that hung there, and raced across the room to where Camilia lay, screaming, only to struggle again with Camilia's curtains. She shouted "_Lumos_!" and without delay a bright yellow glow filled the enshrouded bed with light. Camilia still lay screaming, staring with horrified open eyes at the ceiling. Hermione yelled to her, shook her, and finally grabbed her by the hair and yanked her face upward to just inches from her own when Camilia was calm enough to focus on Hermione. After a brief summary of the dream Camilia had had, she spent the rest of the night snuggled up alongside her friend in Hermione's bed, glad to know her friend was there, just in case.

The next morning passed miserably. Neither Camilia nor Hermione had gotten much sleep due to the previous night's horrors, and Harry and Ron had learned as first years _not_ to bother Hermione when she hadn't had enough rest. Ron had decided that Camilia's disloyalty to Gryffindor House was unforgivable, and Harry had opted not to have any opinions on the matter.

Camilia was forced to endure the stares and the whispers and the gossip of all the houses around her. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had decided that Camilia, by dating a Malfoy, was living up to her family name. The Gryffindors felt betrayed by her selection of a Slytherin, (though the girls were at least slightly more understanding than the boys,) and the Slytherins were divided among three schools of thought: either they detested her for her having usurped easily the best-looking Slytherin at Hogwarts, they thought she must be terribly easy because, as a Gryffindor, she'd allowed herself to engage very publicly in a display of affection with a Slytherin, or both. Malfoy, however, payed them no mind. He knew what he had to do, he had planned it very, very carefully, and things were coming along swimmingly, on a number of counts.

As the four sat sullenly at the Gryffindor table, in flew the owls with the day's deliveries. One of the school owls landed in front of Camilia, held out its leg for her, and as soon as it was relieved of its cargo, snatched a sausage from her plate and made for the window.

Camilia stared at the parchment a moment, unrolled it, and sat in silence as she read its brief contents. Harry, noting Dumbledore's handwriting, asked innocently what she'd received, and after a quick glance around her to determine who might be listening, she leaned across the table to him and handed him the parchment, saying "It's from Albus." He slid it down to his lap and unrolled it once more.

Camilia,

I have neglected our lessons, and I humbly apologize. I shall hope to see you this evening at half past seven in my office. I believe you might appreciate some information about a sacrifice once made on your behalf.

Very Truly Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Do you enjoy peppermint sticks?

Camilia looked across the table at Harry with a puzzled expression on her face. "Peppermint…?" she asked.

"Password," he replied. "Have you never been to his office before?"

"Only once," she stated. "The gargoyle statue, right?"

"Right," responded Harry. "That's where you give the password."

"It didn't require one when I went with Albus…Dumbledore," she finished, seeing the consternation on Harry's face at her continued use of the Headmaster's first name.

"I would imagine that it's been enchanted to recognize the Professor," Hermione chimed in, then returned to the article she was reading in the Daily Prophet.

"Oh…right." Camilia wasn't sure she'd ever learn all there was to know about the magical world.

Harry seemed to read her mind. "It just takes a while," he offered. She smiled at him, though her eyes were not in it.

They parted for classes, and Harry spent the day wondering if the sacrifice Dumbledore had referred to had anything to do with the dream Hermione had told him and Ron that Camilia had had the night before. Harry was most interested to hear about it considering he'd had his own dreams about Voldemort that had hit too close to home, but Ron had been more interested in hearing about Camilia spending the balance of the night in Hermione's bed, so she'd given up trying to explain to the two of them the significance of Camilia's dream. Harry was beginning to feel that Ron's hormones and emotional outbursts were causing Harry to miss out on a substantial amount of noteworthy information. He hoped to find a private moment to sit down with Camilia and discuss both her dream and her lesson with Dumbledore, but knew there would be little opportunity, so he determined to wait by the fire in the Gryffindor common room until she returned from her lesson and perhaps catch her then.

Hermione spent her day grumpy, tired, and frustrated with Ron, and Ron spent his day picturing Hermione and Camilia in Hermione's bed.

Camilia spent the day speeding through classes, ignoring stares and whispers, and making out with Malfoy in the back of the library between classes. Finally, it was almost 7:30, and she made her way to the gargoyle statue outside Dumbledore's office.

"Peppermint Sticks," she ventured, and the gargoyle stepped aside to reveal a large stone revolving staircase. She stepped on and ascended quickly and smoothly to a landing in front of a large oak door. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened on its own, and a voice flowed out from the interior of the Headmaster's Office.

"Come in," invited Dumbledore warmly. She stepped inside and crossed to his desk, sitting in an overstuffed chair across from him without being encouraged to do so. "Sit down," he chuckled, still smiling warmly.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"No, no, dear, no apologies. It is I who must apologize. Seldom do we have Americans at Hogwarts," he said, grinning.

"So because I'm an American I have no manners?" she countered.

"Precisely," he stated. Each smiled, slightly, at the other.

"So Albus," she started, "what's up?"

"I doubt I have ever been asked that question," he mused, "at least not by a sixteen year-old." His disapproval was evident, and Camilia decided then that being allowed to call Dumbledore by his first name did not give her permission to be quite so casual with him. "And I suppose the answer would be," he continued, "Professor McGonagall's level of displeasure with you."

This was not the answer she had expected. "I…I'm not sure…"

"Were you not to be found yesterday evening in the front hall of the school with Mr. Malfoy? I have been told there was a display of affection involved in that meeting that would put many of your Hollywood actors and actresses to shame." Dumbledore was nothing if not direct.

"Got me there," she stammered.

"Perhaps," inquired Dumbledore with slightly more an air of strong suggestion than he had intended, "you might consider participating in such…activities…in private in the future?"

"I'll give it some strong consideration," she smirked.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled as he smiled kindly at Camilia. "Good. I believe Professor McGonagall will be glad to hear it. Well, then, on with the lesson."

For the next two-and-a-half hours, Camilia and Dumbledore discussed the history of her family and the brand of magic Camilia was able to harness using nothing but her own two hands. She practiced advanced magic with him; so advanced, even, that Dumbledore noted, though not directly to Camilia, that her skills exceeded the abilities of many of her professors, but it seemed also that the simplest of spells were far beyond her. It was just after ten when Dumbledore decided it was time to send Camilia to bed.

"I think it best we both get some rest, child. If not you, then me. You have effectively 'tired me out,' as you say," and he rose from his chair in a manner of dismissal.

Camilia rose too. "Next Wednesday, then? Are Wednesdays good for you?" She caught another sparkle in his eye.

"Wednesdays are perfect," he replied. "Though, if we're going to spend as much time practicing and sharing information as we did this evening, it may be best to begin at seven rather than half past."

"Seven o'clock next Wednesday, then," concluded Camilia, and with that, she stepped around the table and hugged the Headmaster.

It took him by surprise for just a moment, and then he squeezed her in return, patted her gently on the head, and, with his palm between her shoulder blades, gently set her in motion toward the door.

She turned briefly before stepping out onto the landing. "Night, Albus," she said.

"Goodnight, Camilia."

Harry jerked awake as the Fat Lady's painting swung shut. He had fallen asleep on one of the common room's exceptionally comfortable chairs in front of the fire, which had now died down to tiny wisps of flame. Camilia stepped into the room, and he hailed her over to him.

As she sat in the chair next to him, looking drained, he peeked over the back of his chair into the corners and at the other chairs and couches in the common room. There were few people remaining now; two desperately studying fifth years catching up on Astronomy for their O.W.L.S., and two seventh years in a far corner snogging quietly, but the room was otherwise devoid of life.

"So, I want to know," Harry said to Camilia, his face pointed toward the floor but his eyes raised to meet hers.

"What?" she asked. She couldn't decide whether she was particularly tired, or whether the stress of the evening had finally caught up with her, but Camilia was suddenly noticing just how striking Harry's green eyes truly were.

"What did he tell you? About your dream, I mean."

"Oh…well, it wasn't about the dream exactly, but what I saw in the dream …no, that doesn't make sense, does it?" She paused. "You want details, don't you?"

"Am I that obvious?" he grinned.

"Yes, but I'm that tired," she retorted.

"Here," he began as he moved to sit in her place, gently moving her from her chair to the floor, "maybe this will help." Harry began to massage her shoulders, helping to release a month's worth of tensions.

"Mmm," she sighed. "All right, all right, I'll fill you in," said Camilia, "but don't you dare stop until I'm done," she added.

"No problem," was his reply.

"I saw my great-great-great-and-then-some-grandmother. At least, that's what Albus said. She was beautiful, Harry, nothing like me."

"You're beautiful," interrupted Harry, and just as he was about to continue, she cut him off.

"Thank you, but that wasn't my point. I mean, she was striking. She had this waist-length chocolate colored hair…so pale, so lean, so determined-looking. But her eyes, they were hollow, you know? I half expected her tears to turn into icicles on my face…her face…I mean, well…" she babbled, leaving off on her tale.

"I know. It's you, but it's definitely not you. I've been there. But I was Voldemort," he finished.

"God. I had no idea."

"So, continue," he prodded.

"It was Charity. I…she…she kept thinking of ways to kill herself, or to kill her husband. Charles. She kept thinking, if only I could kill Charles. And then she'd come up with ways to do it, but she'd picture these horrible consequences, and then she'd go back to thinking about throwing us – throwing herself from the ledge. See, I was on this ledge looking down on the ocean – anyway – and she was wondering what it would feel like when she hit the rocks, or if she'd make it into the ocean. Then…oh, Harry, it was like Medea. I swear I never thought I'd be inside a mind like hers…I read it when I started high school. I was interested in drama, you know, and she was this character in a Euripides play…she killed her children. She killed them to protect them from her husband. Sort of, I mean, it was partly selfish, but not entirely or the Gods wouldn't have protected her. My point is, Charity was contemplating it. She was thinking of ways to kill her kids. She considered drowning them, or stabbing them to death, or…oh god, I can't talk about it. I shouldn't even have said that." Camilia noticed that Harry was white as a sheet. "I'm sorry, Harry, I shouldn't – "

He cut her off again. "Go ahead. I want to hear."

"Right. So, then, anyway, Albus told me that the book I saw that she found in her attic, the one that belonged to Charles, my great-whatever-grandfather, belongs to the Malfoys. They won it at auction. He said I had to get it from Draco, whatever the cost. He said it would explain in detail the spell that she cast. He said it is the only remaining book with a complete record of it, because it's dark magic and all the others were burned in the 18th century or something like that.

"Albus said it was a blood sacrifice, older than time itself, the foundation of all religions. Jews look to a burning bush, but for Charity it was a flaming rock, the rock of her family's salvation, something, and Christians believe in a spear piercing His side, and so she had to make a willing blood sacrifice by thrusting in a knife…and once the sacrifice was accepted, she was consumed by the flames."

"What _were_ the flames?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. God? Magic? God as the source of all Magic? Or maybe her dead family? I don't have a clue, but the point is, Charity, my great-and-some-grandmother, sacrificed herself, her flesh, her blood, to save _me_, and me alone. I guess she thought it was the only way out of the curse. But the problem was, she was centuries too early for a prophecy made by an Oracle…"

"…The Oracle at Delphi…"

"Right, but…well, it seems since I am still part of the Pritchard line, and have no brother to marry – sick, I know – I'm the one from the Oracle's prophecy. The only one left with whom Voldemort could, well, mate," she shuddered, "and continue his twisted reign. She pretty well assured, then, that I'm screwed. That Voldemort was going to come looking for me. Don't get me wrong, Harry, I still wouldn't want to have to marry my brother or anything, but seriously, that would've been easier than learning I'm a witch at the end of some freaky bloodline being chased by the most evil wizard the world has ever seen."

"If anyone understands, Camilia, I do." He hesitated. She stared at him.

"I know you do." They looked at each other for a moment longer, and then, whether it was exhaustion or intense understanding, they leapt at each other and began to kiss. Their kisses became more passionate, more fervent, more frantic, each trying desperately to understand the other through their open mouths. His hand snaked to her shirt, and then under it, and just as he feared she might protest, she did instead the unexpected: she moaned. Harry had never heard anything so glorious in his life. They continued to meld their mouths and their spirits just long enough to desperately want more, and then, just as quickly as it had begun, the kisses ceased.

"I'm sorry," began Harry.

"Don't you _dare_ apologize," she finished for him, smoothing her shirt. They sat for another moment, gazing intently at one another, until she broke his hold on her. "Look – I – it's just nice to be understood, you know?"

"I know," he agreed.

"So, then, back to the story, right?" She did not wait for a reply, but continued. "I guess Albus suspects that Charity knew. He thinks she somehow already understood that Voldemort would one day exist, and that he'd come after you, and that her whole sacrifice thing was more than that. That she wanted me to see it. That she has been, I don't know, waiting for me to see what she did. That she wanted to communicate something to me by killing herself. I told him that she didn't say anything to me when she looked at me, but Harry, I swear, just like I told Albus, that she saw me. That she was in the middle of killing herself, and right then and there _she saw me_, as I was, in my dream last night. It wasn't just some weird connection of my thoughts to this vision of the past, you know, like when you can suddenly control your dreams and you're trying to tell yourself something by letting it happen a certain way. This was different. I was there."

"So you experienced the moment when she – "

"No, that's not what I mean. Not that I was there in the dream to see it and experience it. I mean, _I was there_, in real life, when it happened. She saw me watch her, Harry. I was there. For real." She understood the look of disbelief on his face, but had to somehow make clear to him her earnestness and her knowledge of her presence, her perfect understanding that Charity had actually seen her as she'd killed herself. "I know it doesn't make sense, and I don't remember it from having been there, and it wasn't some déjà vu thing that I experienced when I saw it in my dream. I don't think I was there mentally or emotionally when it happened, but I was physically and spiritually. I hadn't been born yet, so I can't retain a memory of it in that sense, but I remember it spiritually. I remember the heat, the ash, the glow, Harry. _I was there_," she repeated.

"You're right, Camilia, it doesn't make sense," he concurred, "but I believe you."

"I knew you would, Harry. Thank you," she stated.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither looking at the other, but the both of them sitting next to one another, touching. Camilia considered kissing him again, but decided against it, thinking of Draco. Harry felt inclined to pick up where he'd left off with Camilia – she was an excellent kisser – but thought of Ginny and opted out. Finally, Harry broke their silence.

"Did Professor Dumbledore cover anything magical with you?" he asked.

"You mean, performing spells and stuff?" she questioned.

"Exactly," he replied.

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty cool, you know, being able to do stuff that other witches and wizards can't. For instance, there's this one thing…Albus said that he doesn't even think that any of the professors here at the school can do it…and I can! Without a wand!"

"Well…" Harry began, and when Camilia showed no sign of relenting and filling him in, he continued, "What IS it?" in a slightly more exasperated voice than he'd intended.

"Want me to show you?" she smirked.

"Of course," he answered.

"'K, then…attack me," she challenged.

Harry hesitated. "I'm going to get hurt, aren't I?" he mused.

"Don't worry, I'll prevent it," she assured him.

"All right, then…" he began, clutching his wand to him. "_Rictu_ – " And before he could finish his words, Camilia flug her right hand up at his wand in a motion as though to push it away, and her left hand shot forward as though to push him backward. His wand flew from his hand, and he flew backward across the room. He'd have made miserable impact with the stairway to the girls' dormitory had she not immediately pulled back her left hand in a sort of motion that made her appear to grab at the air when he came to a stop in midair, and was placed comfortably on the ground, standing, when she lowered her arm and released the tenseness of her fingers. He strode back to where she was standing, and when he'd almost reached her, he saw her fling her left hand outward toward the place his wand had flown and very gracefully motioned with her hand out in front of her, clasping her fingers at the same moment which came to rest around none other than his wand, which had flown again through the air to land betwixt her fingertips. She handed him his wand and smiled at him devilishly.

"Impressed?" she asked, knowing full well his answer.

"And then some," he replied.

"Good." She smiled. "Well, then, on that note, I think I'm going to bed." She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and yawned, and as she was yawning, said what amounted to "Ahh tie-uht."

"Me, too," agreed Harry, hoping that she'd indeed said she was tired. And then, on an impulse, Harry pulled her into his arms, looked down into her eyes, and used his hand to tilt her chin toward his face. He then placed a very gentle, partially open-mouthed kiss on her parted lips, then kissed her on the cheek, stroked the spot he'd kissed with the back of his hand, and released her. He walked toward the stairs to the boys' dormitories without another word, without an explanation, and without turning around to look at her.

Camilia stood a moment and watched him go, smiled an oddly sad smile, and strode toward the stairs to the girls' dormitory, knowing that, unlike the night before, she would, at least tonight, sleep well.


	8. Riddle Me This

Chapter 8 – Riddle Me This

Harry spent a good portion of the next day wondering whether or not to talk to Camilia about having kissed her the night before; to both his relief and dismay, she herself said not a word about it and pretended as though nothing at all had occurred. Instead, she spent most of her day with Malfoy, and engaged in normal conversations with him, Hermione and Ron, staring him in the eyes with nary a suggestion that anything might be even the slightest bit off.

Harry felt no jealousy as he watched Camilia walk away from the Gryffindor table after lunch and directly into Malfoy's arms, and only the barest hint of it when he noticed Malfoy slide his hand over her buttocks on the way out the door to the Great Hall, but he tried his best to ignore it and join in the conversation Ron and Hermione were having.

"…Still don't know how she can snog that git – " Ron was saying.

Hermione interrupted, as usual. "For God's sake, Ron, you'd think to listen to you that you're in love with her!" And with that, Hermione swept her bookbag from the table, hurled it over her shoulder, and stormed from the room. Harry realized he had missed his opportunity to join in.

"…what's gotten into her…just a joke…" Ron was muttering under his breath, now bright red.

Harry finally had lost his patience. He decided to let Ron in on what had to have been the world's most obvious secret. "Ron, if anyone is the git here, it has got to be you. How can you be so oblivious?"

"Oblivious? What are you on about, Harry?" he demanded. Ron's reaction was to rear on his best friend.

"Ron!...Oh, bloody hell…HERMIONE'S IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU STUPID GIT!"

It seemed that the entire Hall had chosen that precise moment not to say a word. Harry's words echoed throughout the Hall, so loudly, in fact, that even the professors at the head table looked up from their lunches.

Ron was dumbfounded. His mouth dropped open and bobbed in place for just a moment, up and down, up and down, and when Harry realized Ron's jaw would not cease it's motions any time soon, he offered a half-smile and said "Sorry, mate. Someone had to tell you, sooner or later. Thought it'd be best coming from me."

Ron's mouth closed, and he glanced around him at the silent crowd without ever turning his head. "Well, then," he began, "I am a git, aren't I?" Then, under his breath, so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear, Ron asked, "Harry…is she…really…are you _sure_?" Harry nodded seriously. "Right then," responded Ron. "Going to the Common Room. See you." And with that, Ron strode from the room, purposefully, proudly, and blushing something fierce. All eyes turned to follow his progress. He had almost reached the door when the room erupted into a cacophony of raucous yells and thunderous applause. For all appearances, Ron made no notice of the noise expect to blush a deeper shade of lobster, and then he was gone.

Other than the immediate formation of a sappy new couple consisting of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the week passed uneventfully. Harry found himself looking forward to Camilia's next lesson with Dumbledore perhaps more than was she herself, though he wasn't sure whether it was because of the information he knew he'd be able to glean from her afterward, or because he thought he'd be able to find another excuse to kiss her afterward. Both reasons were equally applicable, he thought.

Harry could never have been prepared, though, for what he would hear from Camilia about what had transpired during this week's lesson.

She stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room at half past one in the morning on Thursday. Harry had fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fire with his head on his Potions textbook. With the exception of Harry, there was no one else in the Common Room. Even Ron and Hermione had given up their snogging some hours before in order to retire.

Camilia looked haggard, as though she'd been through the proverbial wringer. She did not at first notice Harry as he was on the floor, but glanced about the room at head-level for any stray students, and when she found there were none, she dropped to her knees there by the portrait hole and brought her forehead to rest on the floor. Harry had seen her fall to the floor and rushed to her side just as she began to sit up, bringing her hands to her face. She rubbed her hands up her face and pressed on her eyelids with her palms – hard – then lifted her chin so her face slid up and out of her hands, at which point she realized she was sitting eye-to-eye with Harry. She let out and pulled in a rush of air, and then without warning broke into wild sobs and fell about his neck. He put his arms around her, pleading with her to calm herself, promising her it would all be okay, assuring her that his presence would solve anything that might be wrong, begging her to explain to him the source of her misery. When it regained her composure, he helped her rise from the floor and led her to the couch in front of the fire, which had all but died.

He turned her face toward his. "Camilia, please, tell me…what happened tonight?" He knew it had to be horrendous; the clock read close to two in the morning, and he couldn't imagine what had kept her so long with the Headmaster.

Camilia hesitated, then stammered "Po…po…polyjuice…p…p…p… potion." Looking once more as though she'd lose it, she drew in an enormous breath and held it, then let it out all at once through her mouth. Her breathing became quick and loud. "When…when I went in, it was a…a new voice inviting me. I didn't know who…who…I didn't know, and I went in, and there was this boy, seventeen, maybe, and he was so handsome, so…he was so handsome. His voice was silk, you know, and he told me to sit, and he sat at Albus' desk, put his feet up, and his hair was…his eyes…Harry, his eyes were…like yours, but hard. His eyes were so hard, and he was beautiful. He was beautiful."

Harry was perplexed; who on earth could she be talking about, let alone making use of the Headmaster's Office? He waited for her to explain further, but she had stopped, apparently contemplating the beauty of this boy, so he prodded her to continue.

Camilia looked at him as though just noticing him. "I'm sorry, Harry, I…" She paused again, thinking. "He was beautiful, it's true, but it was a beauty like…like the Devil. It was seductive and sexy and dangerous and cruel and so erotic, and he looked at me like he was looking _through_ me, and he took his feet down and leaned forward across the desk and then he said…he said…oh, God, he said 'I know you want me.'" Camilia looked as though she might cry again, and Harry put his arms around her, but she shoved him away. "You don't understand!" He looked at her, incredulous, and she blurted, "He was right!" With that, she came apart again and fell into Harry's open arms, burying her face in his robes.

He did not know how much time had passed, but he knew it had to have been hours because he ached all over, and there she was, still sound asleep, draped across him on the couch. Light had just begun to leak through the arrow slits in the stairway turrets, and he shivered grandly, causing Camilia to shift in her sleep. He almost didn't have the heart to rouse her, but knew he had to understand the significance behind what she'd told him minutes? hours? before.

Harry gently shook her upper arm and called her name softly, and she immediately sat bolt upright. She rubbed her face with her hands again, looked at Harry through rapidly blinking eyes, shook the exhaustion from her head, and then asked, "Where do you want to go?" He thought for a moment, then patted her hand and told her he'd be right back.

While he was gone, wherever he'd gone, she took the time to clear her mind and fight off her desperate need for sleep. It seemed only a few seconds and he was back, pulling out a large, expandable piece of parchment, muttering a brief incantation about solemnly swearing to something, and then took her by the hand he'd patted moments before and led her out the portrait hole.

She had no idea where they were going, but he did; he knew that Dobby would certainly be able to find something in the kitchen to wake them up enough to talk, and that he'd also be sure to muster them up some privacy. After tickling a pear in a fruit bowl on a giant tapestry – an odd thing to choose to do, thought Camilia – a door appeared in the wall behind the tapestry, and they stepped into the school's Kitchens. Camilia hung back a moment and watched a dozen ugly creatures run to and fro in the kitchen, and then noticed a particularly odd elf-like animal race toward Harry, calling him by name and bowing low to him.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is honored you would visit him!" the creature exclaimed, again bowing low.

"Dobby, it's good to see you. Listen, I don't have much time to talk, I'm sorry, but I need a favor from you…" Harry trailed off.

"Oh, Dobby is happy to be doing anything for Mr. Harry Potter, sir! What will you ask of Dobby, Mr. Harry Potter, sir? Can Dobby get you – "

Harry cut him off. "What we really need, Dobby, is a couple of mugs of some extremely strong coffee. Camilia and I need to talk just now, and though we need to speak privately, we are both very tired and need a quiet place to continue our conversation –"

At this point, Dobby cut Harry off. "Dobby is finding you both some place to continue your talking, and Dobby will be overjoyed to fetch Mr. Harry Potter some hot coffee, sir!" With that, Dobby raced to a sideboard in the kitchen to attend to the tasks Harry had set forth, and Camilia stared blankly at Harry. She then looked back at the creatures running around the room and shook her head.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked Harry under her breath. "What _are_ these things, Harry?"

"I take it you've never seen a house elf before," replied Harry.

"_These_ are house elves?" she spluttered.

Harry was amused by the consternation on Camilia's face. "It's normal. I was shocked when I first met Dobby, too."

"So, you know that one? Why does he call you Mr. Harry Potter sir? And what's with the fifty million socks and hats and scarves?" she stammered.

"One thing at a time. I do know him, his name is Dobby, and we've both saved one another's lives. It's a long story. As for the rest, you'll catch on in time, not to worry." Dobby was rushing back to them with a tray of mugs and a large pot of black coffee. "But for now, suffice it to say he's a friend, and he'll take good care of us."

Dobby came within five feet of them and motioned toward them to follow him into an adjoining room. The room was thirty feet high with an old table and chairs in the center, and all the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. The shelves contained root vegetables of every kind, from potatoes to carrots to rutabagas to onions, from turnips to celery to parsnips and radishes. As Harry and Camilia looked about the room, Dobby set their tray of coffee on the table and ushered them into the chairs. Once Harry had sat, Dobby pushed in his chair for him, checked to see that he was comfortable, and bowed once more to Harry. "Dobby will come back in two hours to refill Mr. Harry Potter's coffee pot, Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter should call Dobby if he wants more coffee before then."

"Thank you, Dobby," said Harry. "Oh, and Dobby…if anyone comes looking for us, would you mind…I mean, could you tell them we…oh, I don't know, just don't tell them we're here, all right?"

"No, sir, Harry Potter, sir, Dobby will not tell. Dobby will never tell anything that Mr. Harry Potter does not want Dobby to tell." Dobby smiled, nodded, and bowed his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Camilia stared long and hard at the door after it had been closed, then abruptly turned to her mug, poured herself a full cup of coffee, and downed the entire contents of her mug in one long, continuous swallow. She set down her mug, sighed in the direction of the table, and lifted her eyes, followed by her face, to meet Harry. "Where did I leave off?" she inquired.

"Some bloke in Professor Dumbledore's office told you you wanted him," Harry reminded her.

"Right," agreed Camilia. "And I did. Want him, that is. He was incredibly sexy. Disconcertingly so. And I didn't know what to say to him. I felt hypnotized by his gaze. My chest was heaving, my body was responding, and I just couldn't stop looking into those eyes. It took everything in me to wrench my eyes…my mind…away from him. When I did, finally, he asked me what I was fighting for. He wanted to know what was so wrong with wanting him, what would be so bad about giving myself to him. I thought I might faint, or maybe throw up, I don't know, but I had to look at him again. Those eyes. I just fell into those eyes. I thought I'd drown in them. And then I was floating, my mind was floating, and I was standing. I was walking over to him, around Albus' desk, and I was starting to unbutton my shirt, and he said, he said, 'That's right, Camilia. Come to me.' And I did, but as I got closer I thought, this isn't right! I don't want to do this! That boy is the devil! And I fought and fought, and he was so powerful, but I kept fighting, and then I had stopped. I wasn't walking toward him anymore, and I was buttoning my shirt again, I hadn't even realized it, and…and…"

Camilia paused a long moment. "And then it was over, and I was running to the door, and it slammed before I could get out. I just wanted to get out! I wanted to run down Albus' stairs and past that gargoyle and down the hall and I wanted to keep running until I was out of the castle and I didn't want to stop until I reached the ocean, Harry. I just wanted to run from that voice, those…those eyes. But the door was shut. I tried to open it, to unlock it, to yank it from its hinges, but it wouldn't budge. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it turned me around, and I was face to face with him once more. His hand, it caressed me. He was so sexy, his touch was so…and I could feel I was losing touch with myself again, losing control. He leaned in, and I thought he would kiss me, but he passed my lips and whispered to me, told me to just let go, to give in, to enjoy what I was feeling. He promised me power, immense power, and pleasure, both beyond my wildest dreams. And he started to unbutton my shirt for me, but I stopped him. It took everything in me, but I stopped him, and then I was staring at the end of his wand, and my mind was floating again, and I couldn't help myself…I looked up at the ceiling, and he kissed my neck. It was almost as though…almost as though I was waiting for him to bite it, or for him to strangle me, something, but I didn't care. I just didn't care.

"But I knew, deep down, that I did care, that this wasn't right, that I had to do something – anything – to stop him. I spun toward the door again, and it was still locked tight, but I had my mind back; that was what was important. I turned back to face him, determined to do whatever I had to do to get him to let me go, and right when I did, he began to change. He wasn't that boy anymore, he aged, he was old, his hair grew out and turned gray, almost white, and he sprouted a long beard, and his clothes changed, his posture changed, his voice changed, even his eyes changed. It was Albus. He had his eyes back, those big blue puppy dog eyes, and he looked so sad…so scared. And then he started to cry, Harry. He just, he wept. And I started to cry too, and I knew, I knew that he'd been showing me what I'd have to face. The boy…that was Voldemort. That was what he was, _who_ he was, at our age. I'd never felt such _power_, such _evil_, but I'd never seen such beauty or felt such longing. Albus showed me how alluring the devil could be, Harry. It was like…like a case study, where you face danger but you're never really _in_ danger, you know? But I think…I think Albus _was_ in danger. I think his tears were for him, how he had to do it, and what he found in himself once he'd started." Harry looked more horrified than she'd ever seen him, but at the suggestion that Dumbledore had been in danger himself, Harry's look of horror turned to one of loathing and fury.

"You don't understand!" protested Camilia, worried at what he might think of her. "It's not…it's not like that," she explained. "Look. Once…once when I was taking self-defense classes, this friend of mine, Derrick, I asked him to help me practice outside of class so I could be ready for this big attack scenario they did at the end. He agreed to attack me. And not just mess around and kinda pin me and then let me go, nothing like that. Like, seriously attack me. I told him to force himself not to worry if I got hurt, and I told him that I am far more afraid of rape than death, so to try and make me think there was danger involved, you know? Pull on my clothes and stuff…try to convince me I had to get away or suffer the consequences. He didn't like the idea, but he agreed, for my sake. So, we were alone because he didn't want anyone to be there when he was acting like a monster, right, and it was just in my home's rec room…I reserved some time just for this practice. It's not a big room, but there were floor mats and everything, so we could just fight it out and not, like, run into furniture, so…we started. I didn't even know he was gonna start…we were just talking, and he was, like, getting kinda close to me, and then he reached out for my hair…I was weirded out, but I let him because, I don't know, it was _Derrick_. So then he starts acting all weird, and making these dirty cracks, and I thought, _this is it_. I started backing up, right, and he kept coming toward me, so I kinda pushed him away, and the next thing I know, he's got his arms around me and I can't do anything, and then I'm falling to the floor, and my head hit the mat, and I was dazed, and then…I shook it off, but he was so strong, and my shirt…it just tore, but he kept coming at me, and he had this look in his eyes, this _look_, like I'd never seen on a man before – it was terrifying – and I totally freaked out on him and beat the hell out of him, but it took me like twenty minutes just to get away! By the time we were done, he was all cut up and I was all bruised and my clothes were, like, shredded, and he just sat there on the floor in the middle of the mats and started to _weep_. I didn't know what to do, I just sat next to him with my hand on his knee, and finally, when he stopped, he wiped his face and he looked at me, and it was just Derrick again, his eyes were normal, but he looked at me and made me swear never to ask him to practice with me again. And I never did.

"That practice, it made him become something, or at least, made him _see_ something, something in himself he didn't think was there before that practice. And it scared him, not because he couldn't control it, but just because it was there in the first place, and he'd never thought that it could be."

Harry nodded, finally understanding what Camilia was trying to say about Dumbledore.

"Albus learned something about himself tonight, or last night, or whatever. He learned that he has a dark side, too, even though he never shows it and probably didn't even know it was there. But he had to think Voldemort's thoughts, say his words; basically just _be_ him. I think he was hoping he'd never find out he had any of that in him, even if it was preparing me to face Voldemort."

The two sat in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, and then Camilia poured Harry a cup of coffee, and a second for herself, draining it again only seconds after having poured it.

"And then Albus told me all about Tom Riddle."

Harry felt as though Camilia had dropped a bomb. Her story about Dumbledore's behavior toward Camilia while he was still transformed into Tom Riddle by way of Polyjuice Potion had unsettled him, but this had stomped his stomach into his feet. "_What_ about him?" he asked, only half wanting to know.

"That you and Tom are basically the same person, Harry, but it's because of the choices you've each made that you're so different. I suppose that doesn't make sense," she finished, noting the look on Harry's face.

"We're the same, but different. Marvelous. Just me and Voldemort. Care to enlighten me so I don't have to hypnotize you with _my_ green eyes?" he added callously. He glanced up at her expression and immediately felt guilty because he knew his comment had been out of line. "I'm sorry, Camilia. It's…it's been..."

"It's been a rough night," Camilia finished. "But you're right. I need to explain. Bear with me here." And she launched into Albus' story.


	9. The GreenEyed Monster

Chapter 9 – The Green-Eyed Monster

"Tom Riddle's mother was beautiful…striking…a pureblood with a passion for life and love and literature who loved romance and beauty above all else. Her father's name was Marvolo…Marvolo Pritchard."

Harry put up his hand. "Wait, what? You're related to…"

"Voldemort, yes. But not on a direct line. I guess it's a pureblood thing. Anyone with a bloodline like mine is basically related to everyone else in the magical world. Hell, Ron and Ginny are probably related to Voldemort. Who cares? The point is, Tom's grandfather was a Pritchard, which is one of the reasons he knew that the Oracle's prophecy pointed at one. May I continue?" she asked.

"All right," relented Harry.

"Tom's mother's name was Celine. She was a gifted witch and was most adept at transfiguration, a gift she apparently passed on to Tom. According to Albus, _your_ gift for Quidditch came to you from _your_ father. So the both of you received special talents from your magic folks. Anyway, when Celine graduated from Hogwarts, she moved to Yorkshire to attempt to learn about Muggles; it seems she had a head for business and wanted to learn of their tastes and styles so she could transfigure ordinary items into things Muggles would appreciate, sell them, get rich, and retire after she changed her Muggle earnings into…whatever those gold things are that Magical people use."

"Galleons," Harry interjected.

"Whatever. Marvolo hated the idea…he didn't want his daughter associating with Muggles, but she was almost eighteen, and he had no choice. He kept up contact with her, trying to convince her to return to the family home, promising her he'd take care of all her wants and desires; I guess he was from a pretty wealthy magical family. Celine, however, would have none of it. She had begun amassing her fortune, and one day a particularly attractive Muggle came into the shop she'd opened to order one of her "handmade" suits. His name was Tom Riddle. He was so attractive, in fact, that she immediately fell for him, and did everything in her power – using only her powers as a female, mind you, because she didn't want to trap him with magic – to peak his interest. It worked, but it was an unfortunate match; he never respected her because he considered himself to be from a line of English nobility, and thought that she, though beautiful, was a relatively common shopkeeper, having to _work_ for her money. He may have been gorgeous, but he was also cruel. After he'd bedded her often enough to sate his needs, he refused to have further contact with her…until he found out she was pregnant. He did the proper thing for the time and proposed, but, still thinking her a commoner, ignored her almost completely…until she was about seven months along. She decided, since they were married and a child was on the way, it would be best for her to tell him the truth about her heritage – about her magical abilities. She thought it might help him find a new interest in her, being that she was from such a prestigious and wealthy Magical family, but she was sorely mistaken; instead, he beat her soundly for keeping it from him and demanded that she begin transfiguring things in their home, changing common items into priceless antiques.

"At this point she considered leaving him, but he swore to her that if ever she tried to leave, he'd find her, and then he'd kill her. He beat her again just to prove it." Camilia looked at the shock written on Harry's face and said what he'd been thinking. "I know, no love in that relationship, huh?" He ejected a brief, nervous laugh, and she continued with her story.

"Celine was concerned that she might lose the baby because of the two beatings and went to see a midwife, who allayed her fears but was horrified by the bruises she bore. Celine shrugged them off, and endured her husband's abuses through next two months of her pregnancy. When she delivered and discovered she'd borne a son, her husband immediately stepped in and declared that his name was to be Tom Riddle after his father. Because Celine begged him to allow her to give him a middle name, and her begging took place in front of the midwife and her assistants, Tom, not wanting to seem as horrid as he was, relented and allowed her to bestow upon him the middle name of Marvolo, after her own father." Camilia stepped briefly out of her story. "Interesting to note your name, Harry; if Albus wasn't mistaken, you have your father's name as your middle name. Take it as you will.

"Shortly thereafter, Marvolo and his wife, Venutia, visited their daughter to meet their grandson who, even as a newborn, was the spitting image of his father, but who obviously bore his mother's green eyes. At the same time they met their son-in-law, who they immediately detested, and again discussed with Celine the option of returning home. With fear in her eyes, believing that now her son would be leverage to her husband to keep her there, she declined. Her father, who until then had not mentioned noticing her bruises, told her he knew that if she remained, Tom would eventually kill her, and entreated her to return home once more, offering protection from her husband. Celine, nineteen and with a newborn, in her terror, declined again. Marvolo at this point drew himself up to his full height, took Venutia's hand, and summarily disowned his daughter, stating that he'd rather she were not his than to know that, as his daughter, she chose to remain in a home that would ultimately be the death of her. Then, his wife's hand in his, he stormed from the house, never to be seen or heard from again. I guess he never told his other children the whereabouts of Celine, never even revealed to them that she'd had a child, and took the tale to his grave.

"He had been all too correct, however. Riddle decided he'd be willing to keep Celine around so long as she was nursing, but the beatings worsened, the demands increased, and since she was so exhausted from caring for a baby and a home, the demands he made were almost never met. She began to wean her child at about eighteen months, and by the time he was two, Riddle had begun bringing other women into their home and into their bedroom. Celine was forced to tolerate it, terrified that if she rebelled, her son would pay the price.

"According to Albus, Voldemort's first memory is of his mother; he vaguely remembers feeling her fear, smelling it on her. She was afraid all the time, you see, and so on some horrible, sick level, Albus believes he began to equate that feeling with love. She was so afraid of her husband that she began to detach herself from her son; that way, if anything happened to either of them, she wouldn't be crushed by the weight of her son's fate on her shoulders.

"By the time Voldemort was four, Celine was a shell of a woman, a slave in her own household, and a pitiful creature. She seldom spoke – not even to cry out when Riddle beat her – and showed love to no one. She was too empty to feel anything but fear, too overcome with misery and anguish to find any joy in her son. One afternoon, Riddle came home to find Celine asleep on the floor in his stables after a long day of transfiguring hay bales into antique writing desks, and he began to beat her as she slept. She did not stir as he hit her, and when finally the young Voldemort entered the room to determine the source of the noise that had disturbed his play, his father stopped his battery and left. He never noticed that Celine had died; whether it was of a broken heart prior to his beating or during due to the injuries she sustained, no one knows. She lay unattended to for days until, finally, a city representative came to the home to answer some complaints about a putrid stench coming from the Riddle barn. He found Celine, had her buried, and had the horse whose stable it was put down, thinking her injuries and death had resulted from a mad horse. The authorities interviewed Riddle, who claimed that Celine had been adulterous; he believed his wife had run off with another man and so had not missed her, and his son had not complained, so he'd let her go without attempting to seek her. Voldemort said nothing when interviewed; in fact, he seldom spoke. He spent most of his time observing, much like I imagine you did growing up with the Dursleys, Harry.

"It was at age 8 that he began to discover his power. He found that, by harnessing his own anger, he could make things happen: to things, to others, and even to himself. He knew nothing of his mother's abilities; only that she loved him through her fear and her rejection, and that women were good for little more than sustenance and, according to his father, sex. At this time, Riddle began to cash in his amassed antiquities, remodel his home to nearly double it in size, and, with the added room, invited his own parents to move in. He hired servants, drivers, gardeners…a whole staff, including a governess to look after his son. He insisted that everyone in his employ address him as Lord or Lord Riddle, and took long trips to other parts of Europe, leaving his son home to entertain himself.

"At ten, Voldemort realized that his powers were increasing, and that he no longer required anger to maximize his abilities. He learned to control others, and practiced most often on his young governess, who he made do all sorts of damnable things that I won't bother to describe to you, Harry. At this point, he only knew that he could make things happen; not why. On his eleventh birthday, November 5th," she paused, "Harry, do you realize that makes him a Scorpio? They're ruled by Pluto! That means they're most likely to abuse power, to become fanatical, destructive, and self-serving!"

"How on earth did you know that?" questioned Harry.

"I…I remember it from Trelawney's class…Scorpios are also the ones driven by sex…that's how I remembered it," she added quietly.

"Well, I guess that would make sense with Voldemort, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would…I'm sorry, I should continue. It's just strange when Trelawney is _right_ about something, isn't it?" She smiled. "Anyway, so he gets his Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday and it says the school has been looking for him for some time; Albus wasn't sure why they couldn't find him, but he thinks perhaps Marvolo had cast some sort of spell on the home that prevented the magical community from locating anyone with magical abilities while residing in the Riddle household. Turns out he's a wizard! He wasn't as surprised as he was fascinated, and he immediately went in to where his father and grandparents were eating dinner to get leave to go to the school.

"His father came unglued. He cursed Voldemort, cursed his 'pathetic witch of a wife,' and cursed the day he'd ever got caught up with a magical person. He swore that Voldemort would never attend Hogwarts, and told him never to speak of magic again. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

"Voldemort, however, had other ideas. He had experimented with his ability to murder before, first with insects, and then with mice and rats, until he had advanced to farm animals; the townspeople had not been able to explain the recent string of animal deaths throughout the city. He had not, until that moment, experimented with his abilities on people. I doubt it took much to push him over the edge…and so, he did it. He killed his own father, his grandfather, and his grandmother, packed up his things and moved to Hogwarts, and 'learned' after his first two weeks at school that his entire family had been killed as they ate their supper.

"Orphaned, he spent his summers living at Hogwarts, developing his talents and reading everything he was able to get his hands on from the restricted section of the library. He studied relentlessly, was popular in school and amongst the members of the Slytherin house, 'enjoyed' what Albus deemed 'excessive' female companionship, and graduated at the top of his class, destined for what everyone believed would be a fabulous career at the Ministry of Magic. But Albus knew differently.

"He said he'd never trusted Tom Marvolo Riddle, never believed he was just a bright, studious young man, never credited him with anything more than intense drive, charm, and intellect. When Tom chose, after graduating, to move to Bulgaria to study the physical properties of magical creatures, everyone hailed him as the next healer, believing he'd return with knowledge and abilities that could end the magical community's suffering from magical maladies. Albus only believed that when he returned, he'd have attained the knowledge and abilities to heal and profit only himself.

"When he did return, he sought not the opportunity to heal, but the opportunity to lead. He wanted to be the Minister of Magic, even ran for the position, and when he lost out to the then-Minister, he retreated angrily to a Bulgarian school called Durmstrang – "

"I know Durmstrang," Harry interjected.

"Okay, well, that's where he went, and he ended up immediately being made Headmaster there. He was only there for three years, though, and then he disappeared. Two years after that, he returned with disciples, declared open war on the Ministry of Magic, and had a huge following of people he called 'Death Eaters.' Enter Mr. Harry Potter."

Harry looked up at her when she said his name, and they both stared at one another without speaking. It was Harry who broke the silence.

"So Voldemort is a green-eyed orphan with his father's name who didn't know he was a wizard until he was eleven." Harry had begun rushing his speech. "His family didn't support his attending Hogwarts, but he did anyway, and was well-known here." His voice became even more frenzied. "He has a knack for transfiguration, had a strange career, and now is after the both of us. _Does that about cover it_?" At this point, Harry stood so quickly that his chair fell over, and he did something that, even to him, was inexplicable: He grabbed hold of the table and threw it onto its side as hard as he could. The coffee pot went flying and broke into a hundred pieces when it hit the floor, the mugs shattered against the shelves on impact, and Camilia sat rooted to her chair, gawking at Harry's display. Harry stepped forward, knelt in front of Camilia, and grabbed her around the upper arms. He then screamed into her face. "I AM NOT VOLDEMORT, GOD DAMN IT! I WILL NEVER BE LIKE HIM! I COULD NEVER DO ANY OF THOSE THINGS! WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS? WHY ARE YOU COMPARING US? I AM NOT VOLDEMORT!"

It was right then that Dobby came running through the door into the root cellar where they were. He must have thought that Harry was having a breakdown, that perhaps he was going to hurt Camilia, and attempted to pry Harry's fingers from her upper arms. Camilia was in shock. She said and did nothing but to gape open-mouthed at Harry. Then her senses returned, and she pushed Dobby off Harry. "Leave him!" she commanded Dobby, who, looking rather abashed, ran from the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

"Tell me you _don't think_ I'm _like that_," demanded Harry, pleading with her now. "Tell me that Dumbledore doesn't believe that's what I'll become!"

She told him he had it all wrong; both she and Dumbledore knew who and what Harry was, that though he and Voldemort had certain life circumstances in common, it was the decisions they had each made throughout their entire lives that had brought them to where they each were today – polar opposites – and it was because of those decisions that Harry had no chance of becoming what Voldemort had become. After a very long moment of silence, Camilia offered to cheer Harry up.

"Wanna see something cool?" she asked, doing her best to sound as normal as possible.

"Sure," he replied.

"Watch this," she entreated him. She brought her hand up toward her face, almost as though to block a punch, and suddenly shot it outward toward a large parsnip, which immediately exploded. She then threw her other arm in the direction of a grouping of onions on the opposite wall, which detonated like a time bomb set for that precise second. Finally, in a very graceful, swift gesture, she threw both arms backward over her head toward a number of sacks of potatoes on the back wall. Miniscule specks of potato flew everywhere; the room was covered with them.

A smile crept onto her weary face, and she looked at Harry. "Mash, anyone?" They both burst into hysterics, laughing themselves to tears, and when they had finally laughed so long they couldn't laugh anymore, Harry paused to consider the mess in the room.

"This'll be a fun one to clean, Camilia," he teased.

"No, no problem at all, actually," she said. "I mean, do you really think Albus would've let me blow up everything in his office without teaching me how to repair it all? Watch this!" With that, she swung her arm outward toward the mess of parsnip on her right, and turned her hand in a half circle while bringing together her fingers. As she did so, the parsnip re-formed itself perfectly. She did the same with her left hand to the onions, and then turned around to face the place from whence came the potatoes. She steeled herself momentarily, preparing to exert the required effort, raised her arms as though calling for a congregation to rise, and motioned outward to the room, bringing her hands together in front of her, watching, at the same time, the potatoes return themselves to their unmashed state.

"You seem to like to make it big," Harry noticed.

"Make what big?" she asked.

"Your displays," he said.

"Well, like I said originally, what fun is conjuring butterflies? If it's going to be worthwhile, it's got to be something huge. Something powerful. Something impossible for everyone else, right?" Camilia didn't need an answer.

"I'm impressed," stated Harry, contemplating, however, the significance of what she'd said about displaying her powers.

"So am I," countered Camilia. "I thought sure I'd at least miss an eye or two." She chuckled at her own joke, then asked, "Harry?"

"What?"

"Can we go to bed now?

"Excellent idea," he agreed. "But first, could you do me a favor?"

"What's that?" she inquired.

"Would you mind repairing that coffee pot, and maybe fixing the mugs, while I right this table? Don't want Dobby having to answer for it, you know…"


	10. Past

Chapter 10 – Past

Harry and Camilia missed their morning classes, and when Ron finally came looking for Harry, he found him sound asleep in bed. It seemed, Ron explained to Harry, that everyone in the entire school had noticed not only that Harry was absent from his classes, but that Camilia had been as well, and also that the entire school was now buzzing with rumors about their _collective_ absence from their morning classes.

Harry dropped his head into his hands. "Does everyone include the Slytherins?" he asked Ron through his fingers.

"Everyone means _mainly_ the Slytherins, Harry. Malfoy is livid. I haven't seen him this angry since…since he was turned into a ferret our fourth year! It's brilliant!" Ron paused to savor the moment and Harry looked up at him to see if he had any further information to impart. "He's downright ready to _kill_ you, Harry. I can't wait to see the fight the two of them are going to be on with a little later!"

"Ron, shut up," mumbled Harry into his hands, having again dropped his face into them.

"Seriously, Harry, what _have_ you two been up to? Hermione and Ginny thought perhaps – "

"Hermione's been discussing it with _Ginny_?" asked Harry, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

"Like I said, _everyone's_ been discussing it!" retorted Ron.

"What did Ginny say?" Harry begged him.

"Well, if you'd have let me finish: Hermione thought it might actually have something to do with the lessons Dumbledore's been giving Camilia. Ginny didn't say much of anything, really…"

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel relief or continued dread at Ginny's silence. Instead he decided to put it out of his mind.

"You'd best get dressed and get to Care of Magical Creatures, Harry," said Ron, throwing him some clean robes from the trunk at the end of his bed. Ron began collecting his own books, quills, and parchment for class, and as he was tossing them into his backpack, casually asked Harry without looking at him what he and Camilia had _really_ been up to.

"Nothing!" Harry protested. "I swear! She told me about her lessons with Dumbledore, specifically what he'd told her about Tom Riddle, and did a bit of crying; honestly, the tale was a bit…disconcerting."

"Not going to convince Malfoy that that's all it was, is she?" grinned Ron. He saw the glare Harry gave him and tempered his grin with additional commentary about how he didn't necessarily want Camilia and Malfoy to have a fight; he was only suggesting that anything that mad Malfoy angry was all right with him.

When Ron and Harry arrived at Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione and Camilia were waiting for them. Harry, seeing the dark, puffy circles under Camilia's eyes, immediately went to hug her, but she stopped him with a simple, almost insignificant raise of her right hand. She looked sideways over her shoulder at Malfoy, fuming in a corner, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Camilia spoke not a word during class to anyone other than Hermione, but all the while pretended, to the best of her exhausted ability, that nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

After class, the trio of friends watched Camilia go after Malfoy. He would neither look at her, nor speak to her. They followed closely enough that by the time they'd reached the entrance to the school and Camilia had stopped with Malfoy and his gang beside her, they had caught up. It was then that Malfoy went too far; unbeknownst to everyone present, he was not only angry that he might lose the girl who was, to all intents and purposes, his girlfriend, to _Potter_, but suddenly very concerned that everything he'd worked so hard to accomplish the last four months might suddenly crumble, and the consequences of falling short of his objective would be dire.

Camilia was facing him, and he had stepped toward her away from his friends; she asked him if she could speak to him in private, and he responded in a way that no one within earshot could believe. "I have nothing to say to you, you stupid slut."

Hermione had to grab Harry bodily to prevent him from pummeling Malfoy, but, caught up as she was with Harry, she could not prevent Ron from the same. Malfoy immediately found himself on the receiving end of a very determined left hook. It caught him on the jaw and he spun, hitting the floor. Crabbe and Goyle were instantly on Ron, and Hermione was so shocked that she let Harry go. Harry joined the fray, as did Nott and an already-wounded Draco. Wands were drawn, fists were flying, and Neville, Dean, and Seamus, who had begun making their way up the stairs but paused to watch the impending fight, now found themselves racing headlong into the action to defend their fellow Gryffindors from the gigantic forms of Crabbe and Goyle.

No teachers were present; most were still in their classrooms preparing for the next hour, and Hermione saw no recourse but to end the fight herself, or at least have Camilia end it. She raced to Camilia's side, whispered into her ear, and Camilia nodded, then straight away threw her arms forward, her fingers outstretched. The entire group was suddenly motionless. She raised her arms, concentrating with all her might, and the lot of them raised four feet into the air. Those who were facing her were staring at her in shock, and those who were not were desperately trying to turn toward her or look in her direction out of the corners of their eyes. They had seen her lift Malfoy from the ground over a month ago, but none of the boys had experienced it themselves.

"ENOUGH!" she ordered, secretly exhilarated by her power over the group, and all at once, she relaxed her arms and brought them back down to her sides. All nine boys fell to the ground in a heap, a giant ebbing mess of tangled arms and legs. Camilia strode purposefully over to Malfoy, grabbed him by the front of his robes, and pulled him up and away from the group, her signature blue energy being emitted to allow her such strength. "A word with you, Draco – in private." She then turned to the boys still on the ground and looked specifically at Harry and Ron in turn. "I do appreciate your leaping to my defense, but in the future, gentlemen, you might do well to remember that I can take care of myself. 'Stupid slut' offends me far less than my friends getting themselves expelled." She turned to go, but turned back on an impulse. "Nice punch, though, Ron." With that, she took Malfoy by the arm and led him back down the front steps of the entrance.

The boys quickly got to their feet and went their separate ways, each realizing that being dropped four feet onto a hard stone floor was far more appealing than expulsion, and each a bit embarrassed that they'd had no way to prevent Camilia's attack, or rather, anti-attack on the group. Hermione joined Harry and Ron as they climbed the steps toward Divination, and could not conceal the smile on her face.

"What are you so happy about?" grumped Ron.

"That, my dear friends, was masterful," she proclaimed.

"You call humiliating us in front of Malfoy masterful?" demanded Ron, horribly offended.

"No, I call preventing detentions…or expulsions, and still managing to compliment the groups' manliness masterful."

"What _are_ you talking about?" asked Ron.

"What she's saying, Ron, is that Camilia didn't embarrass any of us because we were all embarrassed together," Harry interrupted.

"Precisely," agreed Hermione.

"Well, if we were all embarrassed, then we were all embarrassed, right? I don't understand how that negates the embarrassment, Harry," Ron protested, refusing to discuss the issue with Hermione.

"Look," said Hermione, "she stopped the fight, true, but none of you came out a loser, did you? You didn't get walloped by Nott, Crabbe wasn't humiliated because Neville gave him a black eye, and none of you could do anything about her ending the fight, so no one had to walk away defeated! If anyone came out of that looking the loser, it was Malfoy. Didn't you hear her let everyone know that it didn't bother her that he said…what he said? It just made him look like the pig he is. And, Ron Weasley, if anyone came out of that looking good, it was you! She actually complemented you for hitting Malfoy in the face!"

"I suppose she _did_ do that, didn't she?" surmised Ron, thinking mostly of how he'd been the one to come out of the scuffle with his proverbial nose clean. "You're right, Hermione…she's brilliant."

"Perhaps," added Harry bitterly, "but we'll know for sure just how brilliant she is when she dumps that stupid wanker."

Trelawney's class was, as usual, uneventful, with the exception of her predicting not Harry's death this time, but Ron's. As Ron and Harry left her classroom, Ron leaned over to Harry when they were out of earshot and decreed that Trelawney had obviously been making one too many trips to the castle's wine cellar of late. "Didn't you smell it on her?" he mused. "Why else would she predict _my_ death when _you_ were there?"

When Harry and Ron entered the Gryffindor Common Room, they found Camilia seated at a studying table with Ginny, both deep in conversation. Ron flopped down next to Ginny, startling her, and began, "Ah, Ginevra, what a lovely day for a walk, don't you think?" He looked her in the eye and said, "My dear sister…perhaps you'd like to leave Camilia to Harry and me? We'd like to have a chat with her."

Camilia piped up, "_We're_ having a chat, Ron, so if _you'd_ like to leave, you're more than welcome." Before Ron could protest, she added, "If, however, you'd like to join our conversation, you're welcome to do that, too."

Ginny chimed in. "You might not like it, though; I'm telling Camilia about the diary."

Ron shuddered. "Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?"

"Because I asked," answered Camilia.

"I'd like to hear," said Harry, pulling up a chair.

Ginny turned back to Camilia. "It was so strange, Camilia; sort of like being under Imperius, but…the floaty feeling wasn't there, like I just plain didn't have control."

"Floaty feeling?" asked Camilia. "The Imperius curse makes you feel…floaty?"

Ginny nodded. "It's almost as though your will to resist is gone. You'll do anything, say anything, think anything, and you don't really care that you don't have any control over it." Ginny noticed that Camilia's complexion had paled. "You've felt that before, haven't you?"

"At the train station. I couldn't focus, couldn't shake it, and then…I…I know this sounds batty, but I suddenly had to pee really badly. Of course, I didn't have to go before that, and once I was in the bathroom, I didn't have to go then, either. But that was when I found the purse, the one that brought me here."

"Sounds to me like someone really wanted you in that bathroom, Camilia, because they knew that once you did, the purse would be waiting for you. The question, then, is who?" mused Ginny.

"Whoever it was that wrote me that note on the parchment. In other words, I don't know who," concluded Camilia.

"Well," interrupted Harry, "whoever it was wasn't a friend. Only a Death Eater or some equally unfriendly type would use an unforgivable curse."

The four sat silently, pondering this revelation. Camilia spoke first.

"I don't want to get into what that might mean, so Ginny, if you'd be willing to continue…"

"Sure thing. Like I said, I didn't have control. It felt as though…when I would write in the diary…I could somehow feel him creep up through the pen into my hand. My hands weren't my own. And then he would attack my mind. I could feel him in there, seducing me, promising me, I don't know…glory. I wouldn't even have to think about it. I wouldn't have to think at all, if I didn't want to. And I was so in love with Harry back then," she blushed, "and I was having the hardest time making friends, it just seemed…it made me feel…like I was wanted." She realized what that had inferred, that she had insinuated her own brother had made her feel _un_wanted, and decided she'd better explain herself. "Not necessarily wanted by people in general, but by someone special. And not only wanted as a friend, but as…well…he wanted me physically, didn't he? Not for anything like _that_, you know, but he didn't have his body then. He couldn't do anything for himself, so he wanted me, he needed me. He needed my body. And it made me feel…beautiful. I think it also made me feel a bit sexy, but I didn't know at eleven that that's what it was."

Ron looked from Camilia to Ginny, and then to Harry, horrified that his little sister had ever had cause to feel sexy, but saw that Harry was busy contemplating Ginny, and for just a moment, Ron wondered if Harry was thinking of his little sister as something other than his little sister. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come to him.

Ginny looked at her brother for a moment, and then continued. "The boys aren't going to like hearing this, so I'm sorry, but you wanted to know; I felt wanted at first, but after a few instances, times I couldn't remember what I'd done or who I'd done it to, I became scared. It was like an abusive boyfriend; you don't want to go back to him, but you're just as scared to leave as you are to stay." Camilia looked pointedly at Harry, and he nodded ever-so-slightly. Ginny and Ron never noticed.

"It was in the Chamber of Secrets that it was worst, of course. I felt like an addict, coming back for Tom's abuse and manipulations, but there I was, descending into this dark world of snake skins and hideous statues beneath Myrtle's bathroom, and I couldn't stop myself. I really couldn't stop myself. I had to keep going. I fought it…I mean, I was terrified!...but I kept going, holding that damned diary. And then I was face to face with Slytherin, and I was looking the basilisk in the eye; it was emerging from Slytherin's mouth. I waited to see what would happen to me, staring at it the way I was, thinking surely I'd die or at least be petrified, something, but nothing happened. And I heard Tom's voice, but it wasn't inside my head as it always was. It was beside me. He was standing next to me, and he was beautiful. So handsome, so powerful…and he started to laugh. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his, but he was laughing at me. My body seemed to be giving way beneath me, and he just kept laughing. I was so weak, I fell to my knees, and the world started to grow dark, and the weaker I became, the stronger was his laugh. I know this makes no sense, but I felt…I felt like I was being raped. I was so powerless, and he was enjoying himself so much…" Harry could see, looking at Ginny, that she had actively left her emotions behind when she began this story. It was as though part of her was missing in the telling of it; he knew that had she retained her emotions, she'd never have been able to get through it all.

"You never told me he raped you, Ginny," said Ron quietly.

"He didn't, Ron…not that way. Please don't think he did. It was all mental, all emotional, but the way he was using my body to make himself, well, human again…it felt like he'd…had his way with me, on a whole different level. The only way I can think to explain it is to relate it to rape. But he didn't actually touch me, Ron, I promise." Ron took his sister in his arms, finally understanding what it was she must have been through in the bowels of the school far below, and he held her.

"Ron," asked Camilia, "would you like some time alone with your sister? I think Harry and I have probably heard enough to last a lifetime."

"Thanks," said Ron, accepting her offer without thought or argument.

"Come on, Harry," Camilia said as she stood from her chair and made her way to the couch in front of the fire. Harry stood and followed, and he sat in the chair opposite her.

"I realize Ron needs some time with her right now, but I just want to go over there and hold her myself, tell her everything's going to be all right, and make sure she's protected, you know?" mused Harry. "Oh, and I'd like to kill Tom Riddle all over again. Just find me another diary…I can think of a million ways to destroy it."

Camilia was only half paying attention. "Mm," she said in response.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, Harry. Just thinking. Adds a whole new depth of perspective to Dumbledore's lesson…the Polyjuice Potion thing, as it were. Best not to think about it right now, I guess. I still feel a bit drained from last night."

"Speaking of last night," Harry began, "did you work things out with Malfoy? Because if he was a git about it, I swear I'll – "

"Aww, Harry, you'd get expelled for _me_?" prodded Camilia. She smiled. "He was, shall we say, reluctant to hear me out, but I persuaded him to let me tell my side of the story, and he eventually understood."

"Did you tell him about your lesson with Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"I did. I mean, I had to, didn't I? He _is_ my boyfriend, Harry, like it or not. He's just a fiercely _jealous_ boyfriend who needs to learn to better control his temper, especially around other people." She chuckled, but when she noticed Harry looked far from convinced, she changed tactics: "I think Ron knocked some sense into him, though…"

"That was a damn fine hit, wasn't it?" laughed Harry.

"The finest," admitted Camilia. "Honestly, I think it was his pride that was hurt worst, but it was nothing that making out couldn't fix." Harry grimaced and Camilia laughed harder. "He's really not a bad kisser, Harry!"

"Dear God!" Harry said, shuddering. Camilia was hysterical. "Now, hold on, Camilia. You must tell me one thing." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Who's the better of the two of us? It's me, right?"

"I never kiss and tell, Harry, sorry." She smiled warmly, and then added, "But you're right. Just don't tell Draco that."

Harry thought for a moment before speaking, then asked, very sincerely, "Camilia…what are you doing with him? Honestly? Why Draco Malfoy?"

Camilia considered her answer fully before voicing it, and then, knowing that Harry would never be able to accept it, offered it anyway, even as it was. "I see something in him that is beautiful, and it makes me love him."

"What?" asked Harry, not expecting that to be her answer. "What is it that you see? Can't you tell me?"

"It's…humanity. His parents haven't managed to steal it all away yet, and by now, they should have been able to. For heaven's sake, he wears that Dark Mark on his arm all day, every day, and – "

"He's a Death Eater!" exclaimed Harry in a very loud, hissing sort of whisper, leaping from his chair as he said it.

"Would you sit down, Harry?" begged Camilia. "Yes, he's a Death Eater, and don't act so surprised! You knew it'd happen eventually. He's a Malfoy! Now do you want me to finish answering your question, or not?" Harry sat down again, petulant. "He wears the Mark, belongs to the Malfoy's, lives in Salazar Slytherin's House and spends all his time with a bunch of idiot goons, and still, he looks at me tenderly when he thinks I'm not paying attention. He asks about my day, how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking. He's not always a gentleman, but he's always…always a friend."

"Camilia…he called you a stupid slut in public today. How is he always a friend?" demanded Harry.

Camilia had nothing to say in Malfoy's defense. Instead she continued, "He's human, Harry…and I love him for it."

"You're telling me you're in love with Draco Malfoy."

"Yes, I think I am."

"I don't like it, Camilia. At all."

"You don't have to like it, do you? And I'm not asking you to. What I'm asking is for you to accept it," she concluded.

"Fine, but remember, I don't like it. Do me a favor, Camilia? Watch your back. I think he has something up his sleeve, and it's not just the Dark Mark."

"I'll consider myself warned, but do _me_ a favor and try giving Draco the benefit of the doubt for once, Harry."

"You don't know him like I do," said Harry simply, and with that, excused himself to his dormitory.


	11. Present and Future

Chapter 11 – Present and Future

Harry spent the next two weeks wondering how he could get Ginny to notice him again like she had years before; how he could peak her interest to the same level it had been her first year at Hogwarts. He debated using spells and love potions, considered having Hermione give her a note for him, even pondered whether or not to write her a poem for Valentine's Day, which was almost upon them. In the end, he thought it best to check with Ron and see just how adverse his friend would be to Harry being interested in his little sister.

Ron, amazingly, was not at all adverse. Hermione later revealed that she had already discussed the topic in detail with him, figuring the day would eventually come when Harry would admit his feelings. But when Harry brought the issue to Ron, he'd had no idea what to expect.

"The way I see it," said Ron, "who better to date my sister than my best mate? That way you'll be too afraid to touch her because you know I'd kill you, and you wouldn't ever dare be anything less than a gentleman because my brothers would _help_ me kill you, and, if ever you got married," at which point Harry began to protest, "_if ever you got married_," continued Ron, "I'd have my best mate as family. So, you want her? She's yours."

Harry laughed. "You know, she has to want to date me too, Ron."

"I doubt you'll have any problems with that, Harry," smirked Ron.

Harry's heart did a somersault, but he was too afraid to ask Ron if he was serious, or why he would think that about Ginny, or what Ginny had said about him, because he feared that Ron would admit that he was just teasing him, and Harry would in turn feel hopeless. Instead, he took Ron at his word and left to find Ginny and ask her to accompany him to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day.

On his way out the portrait hole, he ran into Camilia. "In a hurry are you, Potter?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"No, no hurry…just get out of my way, Pritchard!" he yelled as she kept dancing back and forth to block his progress.

"Sorry, Harry…had to do it!" she called after him as he climbed out of the portrait hole.

Harry made his way to the library, where he remembered Ginny saying earlier she'd be the balance of the afternoon; she had a Potions exam that week and, in a very Hermione-like fashion, she had complained that she felt behind in her studies. When he arrived at the library, however, she was nowhere to be found. Instead, he found Neville leafing through a Herbology periodical. "Hey, Neville, have you seen Ginny?"

"Sorry, Harry…been wrapped up in this article on spelunking for Grimble Moss." Neville shrugged at Harry's inquiring look and went back to reading.

Harry searched the library once more and his eyes landed on Seamus. He strode quickly to him and asked, "Seamus, do you know where Ginny is? She said earlier she'd be in the library – "

"Oy, Harry, you just missed her. She went down to the Potions Dungeon – said she needed some real practice. Going to see her later, though. Something you need me to tell her?"

Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at the suggestion that Seamus might have some sort of date with Ginny. "No, nothing, never mind." Harry turned on his heel and headed out of the library toward the Potions Dungeon without so much as a "see you later." He went quickly, believing that if he didn't stop to think about it, it would be easier to ask her on a date. He made it to the dungeons in record time, partly because of his excitement, and partly because he was never normally eager to reach the dungeons because that meant class with Snape.

When he reached the door to the Potions classroom, he pushed it open… and then hesitated. The only light in the room was coming from the fireplace in Snape's office. He took two halting steps into the room and called out softly, "Ginny?"

"SHHHHH!" came a loud whisper from somewhere in front of him, and a few moments later he felt a hand grasp his own and pull him down to the floor. It was Ginny. She put her mouth as close to his ear as she could and whispered "Come this way." She made her way on all fours across the floor toward Snape's office as quietly as an Acromantula on stone, and he followed clumsily, trying his best not to bump anything around him or make any noise. When he reached her side, she spoke once more into his ear. "_Listen_," she said.

Harry could just make out two voices; one was definitely Malfoy, and the other sounded like…his father? Yes, it was unmistakably Lucius Malfoy, and he did _not_ sound happy. It seemed they were discussing a book; Lucius Malfoy was commenting that just because his son's girlfriend had _asked_ didn't mean _he_ was required to _provide_. At first Harry thought perhaps they were talking about Tom Riddle's diary because Harry was only able to relate Lucius Malfoy to one particular book, but then he began to speak of the expense, the investment…and he knew that the one book Camilia would ever ask Draco Malfoy to see would be the book her ancestor had read from – the book Charity had used as an instruction manual to end her own life.

The Headmaster had asked her to find a way to get that book from the Malfoys, believing it would give Camilia a wealth of insight into her family. It seemed that Camilia had taken him up on the challenge and asked Malfoy to provide it for her, whether as a gift, or as a chance to commune with her ancestors, Harry wasn't certain. He was certain, though, that Lucius Malfoy did not want to give up his possession of the book.

Draco Malfoy's voice jarred him from his thoughts. "Remember my task, father! What better way to win her over? Would you deny the Dark Lord his trophy for a few thousand Galleons?"

Ginny grasped Harry's arm. The two sat motionless, breathless, waiting for Lucius Malfoy's response. He was too quiet in his reply for them to know exactly what he'd said, but they could tell from Draco's response that he had succumbed to his son's demands. "She won't disappoint Him, father. I promise you that."

"You haven't even discussed it with her!" snapped Lucius, loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I don't have to…she's a bloody Pritchard!" said Draco angrily.

"So was that Danforth woman, and look where that took Charles' line! The last of his kin, raised by filthy Muggles in a Muggle orphanage. Charles is rolling over in his grave!" growled Lucius.

"It's all under control. Trust me, father. I won't fail you, and I won't fail Him." Draco was resolute. "Just have the book here by Valentine's."

Their conversation continued, but it was more difficult to hear, and after a couple minutes worth of straining to listen in, Harry became concerned that they'd be wrapping up their conversation shortly. He squeezed Ginny's knee twice, nodded his head toward the door, and the two made their way silently across the floor to the exit, closing the door carefully behind them. They walked as quickly as they could up to the entrance hall without ever saying a word to each other, but when they reached the hall, they both began talking at once.

"We have to warn her – " started Harry.

"How could he be willing to – " began Ginny.

They both paused, and then launched together into further speech.

"He's going to try to get her to – " said Harry.

"What if he wants to use her for – " rushed Ginny.

"Wait!" barked Harry. "We have to do this one at a time! Okay, you first!" He waited for her to begin, but she looked thunderstruck. "Okay, I'll go."

"No! Wait, I can…it's just…Oh, God, Harry, how could he be such a _monster_? We don't even know what he wants her for, but it's undeniably something to do with You-Know-Who! And what if the book he's talking about is another diary? Harry, we have to find her! We have to tell her! Why are we still standing here? We have to – "

"Ginny, hold on a minute. First of all, I know what book he's talking about, and it's one that Professor Dumbledore told Camilia to weasel out of Draco, so whatever she's doing, it's working. I agree, we do have to warn her that he's planning something, that they want her to serve Voldemort somehow, but we have to be careful the way we do it. For all we know, she might already know about the conversation! She might have told Draco what to say to – "

"Rubbish!" stated Ginny categorically. "They might have discussed it, she may have told him to ask his dad, but she certainly does not know that they're planning to convert her to You-Know-Who's side! She couldn't possibly know that!"

"Okay, you're right, but we can't leap to conclusions just now. We have to think this through logically. If we go to her and tell her everything we just heard, she may try to challenge him on it, and then she won't get the book! Dumbledore told her it was well nigh imperative that she have it, and we can't let her risk losing it now!" While he considered what their best move would be, he paused and asked Ginny, "What were you doing in there, anyway?"

"I was going to do some potions homework, studying and whatnot, but when I got to the classroom, I found Malfoy in Professor Snape's office and thought I'd put my abilities to the test."

"I was impressed…you were silent!" Harry said by way of congratulations.

"Well, I've learned from the best, haven't I? Fred and George are excellent teachers in the art of spying." She grinned.

Harry gazed at her as she smiled, and when he didn't respond, or even smile in return, Ginny began to think something was wrong. "Harry? Everything all right?"

Harry knew it was now or never. "Ginny, I…I was coming to find you because I…wanted to ask you to accompany me to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day…that is, if you don't already have someone…"

Ginny was stupefied. "Harry, are you asking me on a date?"

"I…yes. I am. Unless you're busy, or you don't want to, or you're pursuing someone else, of course, in which case – "

Ginny put her finger against Harry's lips and looked up at him with her big, beautiful blue eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Yeah, well, bad timing, isn't it?" joked Harry. "So, you'll go, then?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Right. Well. Right. Let's find Camilia then, shall we?" He had changed the subject so quickly, it made his own head spin.

"What shall we tell her?" she asked.

"I don't have the foggiest idea," he replied.

Shaking his head, he made for the stairs. Just as he was about to mount the first step, he felt a strong urge to grab Ginny's hand…and did so. Neither looked at the other, but both took a moment as they climbed the stairs to bask in their exultant happiness.

It was short-lived. Half way up the stairs, Professor Trelawney wandered to the edge on her way down and teetered, as though she was about to fall. Harry immediately released Ginny's hand and lunged for Trelawney. He caught her right before she went tail-over-teakettle and helped her balance herself on the landing where she'd originally stood. At that moment, she looked up into his eyes and registered briefly his face. In an instant her demeanor changed and she stared into space with a glassy expression in her eyes. She then turned her attention back to Harry.

The voice that emerged from her mouth was not her own; Harry had heard this voice once before, and though it frightened him still, he was all ears. She spoke only one sentence: _"See it she shan't; aid it she shall…"_

By this time, Ginny had reached Harry's side and she, too, was petrified by Trelawney's prophesying, never having actually seen her make a real prophecy. Trelawney's seership, or her apparent lack of such, was a constant joke amongst the students of Hogwarts, and though Harry had once told Ginny that Trelawney had seen the future in his presence, she herself had never witnessed Trelawney's connecting to the unknown.

A moment later, Professor Trelawney blinked, looked at Harry as though she had not yet seen him, leaned in close to him and, Harry noted, stank of hard liquor, swayed momentarily, and then shook her head as though to clear it. She then hiccupped once and turned to walk off in the direction she'd come, humming a tune that sounded oddly like it had come from a Broadway show.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" asked Ginny, more alarmed than baffled.

"I'm not sure, but likely about you, Camilia, or Hermione, as you three are the only three with whom I pass my time, and considering the evening's events, I'm guessing it was about you or Camilia."

"Camilia," concluded Ginny. "I'm not involved in anything so serious as to provoke a _real_ prophecy from Trelawney, and only something _very_ serious could get something like that out of _her_." Harry felt inclined to laugh at Ginny's maligning of the seer, but knew, betwixt this, the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and the prediction about Wormtail, that this was too grave a situation to take lightly.

"What exactly did she say again?" asked Harry.

"I…I don't think I was close enough, Harry, I really didn't catch much of it," answered Ginny.

"Times like this I wish I had a…a Pensieve!" Harry pondered how he could get a hold of Dumbledore's Pensieve; he only needed it long enough to hear about what Trelawney had said so he could write it down. Then he had an idea. "Ginny! Go tell Camilia what we overheard, but use your best judgment as to what and how much." Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off. "I trust you; you'll know what to say. I'm going to Dumbledore's office to use his Pensieve. Have Ron get my invisibility cloak and meet me at the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office in twenty minutes. Got it?"

"Okay, Harry, but – "

"Thank you, Ginny." He was off and running, but came to a sudden, screeching halt. "Ginny! Valentine's Day this year will be _wonderful_!" With that, he was gone, and Ginny was left to sigh to herself before she headed up to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Peppermint sticks," said Harry to Dumbledore's gargoyle. It moved over so he could mount the circular staircase to Dumbledore's office, but as he was not expected, the stairs did not lift him; he had to climb. When he reached Dumbledore's door, he knocked four times, and there was no answer. He knocked again, as loudly as he dared, and again there was no answer. He put his hand to the doorknob, and then pulled his hand back in pain when it shocked him. "Alohamora," he said, pointing his wand at the door. When nothing happened, he felt himself becoming frustrated, and desperately searched his mind for something, anything, to help him into the office.

A painting on the wall he'd never noticed before spoke up just then and asked him if he had the password; when he said repeated the gargoyle's password once more, the painting tsk'd at him. "No, no, no, not the password for that beast downstairs…the password for the Headmaster's office when he is not in! Foolish boy!" added the man in the frame, adding insult to injury.

Harry thought for a moment, and began listing aloud every confection he could think of: chocolate frogs, sugar quills, pumpkin pasties, sour spiders, but still the door did not open. Finally it dawned on him; Dumbledore had once told him that his favorite candies were Muggle sweets, and so he said aloud "Lemon Drops!" The door swung open.

Harry strode quickly into the room, directly across to the cupboard where he knew the Headmaster kept his Pensieve. It was exactly where he'd expected it to be. He carefully brought it down from its shelf and rested it on a nearby table, then brought his wand to his temple and pulled a shimmery silver string of memory from his mind. It slipped from his wand into the Pensieve, and Harry did as he'd seen Dumbledore do before; he stirred it rapidly counter-clockwise. Trelawney's figure rose from the surface of the Pensieve, a silvery, ghost-like form, and Harry scrambled for a quill and parchment he found on Dumbledore's desk. He had just unrolled the parchment when Trelawney began: "See it she shan't, aid it she shall." And then her form disappeared back beneath the surface of a million swirling thoughts. Harry placed the quill back on the desk and was rolling up the parchment when he saw one of Dumbledore's obviously recent memories swirling in the Pensieve. The subject of this memory was Camilia, and before Harry even had time to think about what he was doing, his nose was sinking beneath the swirling fluid and he was being pulled in to the memory.

He was in the very same office, but everything in it was up against various walls. In the center of the room stood Camilia, and Dumbledore was sitting on the edge of his desk, watching her intently. Camilia stood over one of Dumbledore's overstuffed chairs, her hands together almost in prayer, covering her nose and mouth, contemplating the spell she was about to perform. Swiftly she stretched her arms into the air, as though ready to receive something from heaven, and a great rush of eerie green flame sped down from somewhere beyond the ceiling. Her arms directed it downward and it consumed the chair in front of her, but the chair itself appeared to be unharmed. She watched it, focused, but it seemed then that her mind slipped for a moment – she lost her focus and her mind traveled to something other than the task at hand – and the flame vanished. In fact, it seemed to implode; there was a strange pressure in the room, a feeling of everything in it being sucked into the center of the room, but as quickly as the feeling had come, it had ceased. Camilia collapsed into the chair, and Dumbledore, ever the patient professor, had leaned forward just slightly and allowed his spectacles to slip to the edge of his nose so that he could look at Camilia over them. He smiled faintly and said one word: "Perhaps a simpler spell. We could work on – "

Camilia was shaking her head. "No butterflies, Albus."

"I had not intended – " began Dumbledore.

Camilia cut him off once more. "You know what I mean. Don't make me conjure rainbows when I can do this." With that, she heaved an enormous sigh and stood, ready to call down more green flame from heaven, and the memory ended.

Harry was being hurtled from the Pensieve and landed, standing, on the floor, his parchment still in hand. _So she and her ancestor have a _lot_ in common_, he thought, and made his way quickly to the door and down the stairs, where the gargoyle stepped aside for him. When he reached the stone floor, his cloak swept over him, apparently of its own accord, and he joined Ron underneath, the both of them now invisible.

"Where are we going?" asked Ron.

"Back to the Common Room," answered Harry.

"Not sure you want to do that just now," mentioned Ron, as casually as he could.

"What's going on?" Harry wanted to know.

"Camilia's having a bit of a tantrum…Ginny was telling her something about Malfoy, and whatever it was, it didn't go over well with Camilia. You can guess the rest."

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry.

"Library," answered Ron.

Harry knew that Camilia would need to calm down, and Ginny would need to forgive Harry for sending her to talk to Camilia, so instead he opted to discuss what he'd seen in the Pensieve with his two best friends. "To the library, then," he concluded, and off they went.


	12. St Valentine's Day

Chapter 12 – St. Valentine's Day

Harry had always believed that Valentine's Day was a cruel joke; those without "significant others" spent it feeling sorry for themselves, and those who were somehow attached always seemed to be disappointed by the fact that the day never went "perfectly." This Valentines, however, had to be different.

Harry leapt from his bed early this day, spent an abnormally long time both in the shower and in front of the mirror preparing for his rendezvous with Ginny, and raced down to breakfast before most of the rest of his House so that by the time Ginny was ready to emerge from her dormitory, he could be sitting casually by the fireplace in the Common Room, pretending that his insides weren't swarming with a mass of frenzied butterflies.

When Ginny emerged from the stairway to the girls' dormitory, she looked more ravishing than Harry had ever seen her look. Just the top portion of her long red hair was pulled up and knotted at the back, and the rest fell down over her shoulders in a sleek cascade of ginger. Her makeup was scarce and natural, and her long eyelashes were blackened, making her beautiful blue eyes appear to smolder. She was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and two tunic-length, stacked, form-fitting t shirts; one was white and the other, overlaying it, was aquamarine. She had a warm wool sweater tied about her waist to combat the cold February outside the castle, and heavy black tread boots laced up on her feet. As Harry gazed at her admiringly, she looked back at him equally as appreciatively.

As Ginny was crossing to Harry, he noticed Camilia appear from the dormitory stairway, looking equally ravishing. Harry could not deny his attraction to Camilia, which was growing ever more strong the closer they became as friends, but with Ginny the goddess she was, he did not give her more than a glance as she dashed off to meet up with Malfoy.

When she reached him, Ginny allowed Harry to take her hand and lead her to the couch in front of the fire. "You look like you're up to something," she coyly teased. "What have you planned for us for the day?"

When she implied that she'd be spending the entire day with Harry, he felt at least ten feet tall. "Just a trip to Hogsmeade, with maybe a few little surprises," he replied.

She hesitated before speaking, and then said, more casually, "You know, Harry, this is kind of strange, don't you think? I mean, you're Ron's best mate, I've had this giant crush on you for the last four years, and here we are, finally, going on a date! On Valentine's Day!" She laughed. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"A bit," he agreed. "But what's really hard to believe, Ginevra Weasley, is that it took me four years of living in the same House with you, seeing you every day during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and spending time with you and your family to realize just how beautiful you are…in and out."

Ginny colored deeply and, at a loss for words, leaned her head on Harry's shoulder, nuzzling into the soft green sweater he'd chosen when dressing that morning with the hope she'd like it. He wasn't sure how long they'd sat that way, but Ginny was beginning to rise from her place on the couch next to him and ask if he'd join her in the Great Hall for breakfast. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Seamus, Dean, and Ron entered the room.

"…sneak some fire whiskey into her…oh, hey, _Ginny_," laughed Seamus, elbowing Ron.

"That's enough, you git," Ron said, elbowing Seamus in return.

Ginny looked from Ron to Seamus and back again, and then turned to Seamus once more. "You're not encouraging my brother to get his girlfriend drunk, are you? Because, based on the snogging we've seen, just here in this room, Ron won't need any fire whiskey to make this a Valentine's Day to remember…" She laughed, Ron looked scandalized, and Seamus and Harry's jaws hit the floor. "I'm going to breakfast, Harry," she said, standing up. "You're welcome to come with me." With that, she headed for the portrait hole, and with a final sheepish shrug at a baffled Dean, Seamus, and Ron, Harry Potter headed after her.

Ron and Hermione met up with Harry and Ginny a few minutes later down at breakfast; Ginny was, at first, concerned that Harry wasn't eating, so he let her in on what he hadn't been able to minutes before: he'd already eaten.

After breakfast, a line formed at the entrance to the castle, a horde of students waiting to trudge through the snow in hopes of reaching their romantic Hogsmeade destinations quickly. After various warnings to the students from Filch, making clear the punishment should he dislike any of the items returning to the school with the students, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were on their way. The day was bright and, without the cloud cover from snow, very cold. Their eyes and ears stung from the cold, and by the time they'd only reached the gates, Hermione was already having to cast spells to keep them from winding up frostbitten.

They were nearing Hogsmeade when they heard squeals from a group of third year girls somewhere behind them. They turned just in time to see a large, thick tapestry flying toward them, carrying Camilia and Draco Malfoy. They all leapt aside, and the two floated past, all bundled in their winter coats, looking comfortable and at ease. It might as well have been a horse-drawn carriage from the smug look on Malfoy's face.

Hermione was appalled, primarily because she could not perform the same spell. "How did they do that? Those spells are written in Arabic! I'm pretty sure Malfoy doesn't read Farsi, and I'm certain Camilia doesn't!"

"She doesn't have to, Hermione. She can do all sorts of things we can't, haven't you noticed?" asked Ron.

"But that's a valid spell! She can't make carpets fly without having access to – "

"It's not a carpet, Hermione," corrected Ginny. "It's a tapestry."

"I – well, I – " Hermione looked abashed.

"But we can do loads of things she can't too, alright, 'Mione?" Ron piped up. "For instance, anything simple, anything that requires a gentle hand…well, you all can do anything requiring a gentle hand, I just break things, but point is, you're just as capable, and far less dangerous. Now can we head to Hogsmeade, please? I can't feel my nose," he added.

Ron could occasionally be dense, it was true, but he also often said exactly what Hermione needed to hear. She linked her arm through his, but as they began again to walk toward Hogsmeade, Harry leaned over to Ginny.

"It's not that she can't do the simple things…it's that she doesn't try. I think she'd rather that whatever she does is spectacular," he muttered.

"Harry," said Ginny, stopping all at once and turning him to face her, "Can we _please_ not talk about Camilia today?"

Harry waited for her to continue the thought, but she did not, so he nodded sheepishly, looking at the ground beneath him, and then she caught his arm, turned him towards Hogsmeade, and on they walked.

The group spent most of their time at the Three Broomsticks chugging butterbeer, ordering lunch and enjoying it with more butterbeer, and washing it down with a dessert that was primarily butterbeer. Ron and Hermione decided then to go their separate way and headed out into the cold. Harry and Ginny decided to do some shopping, and Harry suggested they head to Madame Liota's Seer Store. Ginny knew something was "up" when he tried to casually advocate using the back entrance.

Harry had planned it all. Madame Liota had arranged the back room for him specially, at a hefty price of over a fifty galleons, and it was draped from floor to ceiling in pale pink satin and tulle. Giant poufs and pillows were everywhere in the small room, and magical confetti was falling from the ceiling, vanishing before it reached the ground. In the middle of the room was a very low table with poufs on either side, and in the center of the table sat a very small jewelry box, surrounded by rose petals. On one of the poufs sat a dozen long-stemmed roses.

Now that Harry had the opportunity to actually see what Madame Liota had described to him, he was worried that Ginny would find it mildly tacky, but his fears dissipated when she threw her arms around him and planted a sweet, tender kiss on his left cheek. She then strode over to the pouf with the roses, lifted them and sat where they'd been, and laid them in her lap. Harry took the opportunity to join her on the large pink pouf across from her.

"May I open this?" she asked him, gesturing to the jewelry box on the table.

"It's not there for me," Harry countered, smiling.

She reached for the box, and lifted it from the table so that it was now inches from her face. She breathed in, and all at once cracked open the box. "Oh, Harry!" she gushed, practically knocking over the table to get to him once she'd seen what was inside.

Harry had searched for days and days to find just the right item for Ginny, and when he found the diamond earrings she was now clutching, he'd known right away that they should be hers. He had hesitated for just a moment, thinking that perhaps 100 galleons was a lot to spend on a fifteen year-old girl, but according to the goblin who sold them to him, they were flawless diamonds and worth twice that. When he learned they were flawless, all hesitation was gone; the word flawless described Ginny so perfectly to him, he knew they must be hers.

Some hours (and much kissing) later, the two heard a rap on the back door of the Seer Store, and Harry remembered that that was his cue; it would be time to return to Hogwarts very shortly. They had to be back by five o'clock, and he had asked Madame Liota to notify him of the time around four-thirty.

Ginny collected her roses, put on her earrings, pausing to appreciate the weight in her earlobes, and let Harry lead her, arm in arm, out to the road back to Hogwarts. They were through the gates when a tapestry came rushing by, and Harry just had time to notice a large, very old-looking book under Camilia's arm. _The book!_ he thought. _He gave her the book!_

They watched the tapestry sink to a level barely two feet from the ground right before it reached the stairs into the school, and saw Malfoy leap down first, then offer his hand to help Camilia down. She turned to the tapestry, made a few circles with her right hand, and the tapestry rolled itself. She then motioned, rather absently, to Malfoy, who caught the tapestry in midair. Camilia glanced quickly over her shoulder at Harry and Ginny, then hugged her trophy to her as Malfoy put his arm around her waist and led her back into the warmth of the castle.

"I have to hand it to her," announced Ginny, jarring Harry from his study of the couple, "she can do things I never dreamed possible for a witch or wizard, and she seems to have Malfoy wrapped around her little finger. I just hope that she really does have him where she wants him, because I still think he has more up his sleeve."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," agreed Harry. "But then, I can't say much at all right now because I've lost the feeling in my lips."

Ginny laughed. "Well, what are we standing here for, then? Let's get inside!"

They raced one another to the stairs, surrendered themselves to Filch for a full search, and then decided to race one another to the Gryffindor Common Room. When they reached the portrait hole, Malfoy was kissing Camilia, and he was obviously using his tongue to do so.

"Can't you two do that somewhere private?" asked Ginny, stepping around them to make her way into the Common Room.

"We could," replied a cheeky Camilia, "but I wasn't sure if my bed hangings blocked the view to my bed a full three hundred sixty degrees." Ginny blanched. "With that mental image, Ginny…off you go!"

Ginny's jaw clenched, and Malfoy and Harry looked mutually uncomfortable. Malfoy glanced at Harry, and then told Camilia he'd see her in an hour for dinner. Camilia, however, was not yet finished with Malfoy. While they resumed their kissing, Harry followed Ginny through the portrait hole, and said to her in barely a whisper, "She wasn't serious, right?"

"God, I hope not!" Ginny said, shaking her head. "As far as she's told me, he's never done anything more than grope her once or twice."

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. "How do you…did she…why do you know that?"

"Because girls talk," she replied, shrugging.

Harry had to ask. "Have you two ever…talked about me?"

"Well, we haven't really talked since the whole Malfoy thing, but we used to. I'd tell her what a great kisser you are, and she'd tell me Malfoy is better, and I'd insist that that's not possible – "

"She said Malfoy is better?" stammered Harry.

Ginny laughed. "If you'd let me finish…I would insist that that's not possible because you're Harry and he's…well, he's _Malfoy_, and then she would finally concede that I'm right."

"Good, because I couldn't take it if Malfoy was a better kisser than me," concluded Harry.

"Well, Harry, honestly we really have no way of proving you're better, do we? I haven't kissed Malfoy, thank God, and Camilia hasn't kissed you."

Harry had almost forgotten she didn't know, and he was instantly glad he hadn't accidentally mentioned it. "Right. True. But I'm still better."

She laughed, and he forced a laugh and turned, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to think of a new subject, when Camilia entered the room. Grateful for the built-in conversation topic, he asked about the book she was carrying. "So, that's it, is it? Charity Pritchard's book?"

Camilia's eyes became wide, and she hushed him. "Not so loud, Harry! You want the whole friggin' school to know?"

"Sorry," he replied, speaking in hushed tones.

"And to answer your question, yes, it is," she added smugly.

"Was it your Valentine's gift?" Ginny asked her, attempting to be pleasant.

"That, and this," she replied, reaching into her shirt to pull up a pendant attached to a thin chain around her neck. The pendant was a tiny gold heart with a small ruby suspended magically in the center. "It's my birth stone," she offered, "and they're the Gryffindor colors, of course."

"Malfoy bought you something in Gryffindor colors?" asked Harry dubiously.

"Yes, _Draco_ bought me Gryffindor colors, Harry, and please, please, _please_ would you call him Draco? You don't have to to his face or anything, but he _is_ my boyfriend, and it wouldn't kill you!" snapped Camilia.

Ginny grinned. "I don't know about that, Camilia…it just might."

"Whatever," said Camilia through her teeth, and then turned on her heel and headed up the stairs to the girls dormitory.

Ginny leaned over conspiratorially to Harry. "Let her have her book and that stupid necklace," she mumbled, "and her stupid git of a boyfriend, too. I've got everything I could ever want." She reached for her earrings, smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you at dinner…if I'm not in detention for hexing that snooty bitch." Harry looked shocked at her sudden language, and watched her go as she stormed up her stairs.

"Women," muttered Harry, and, shaking his head in disbelief, he turned to head up to his dormitory to change for dinner.


	13. Never Cross a Pritchard

Chapter 13 – Never Cross a Pritchard

Dinner that night would go down in Hogwarts' history as one of the most alarming meals ever taken in the Great Hall. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had decided to go down to eat together. After a full day of being out in the cold, they were ravished by the time dinner began.

Ginny sat down next to Harry, who felt the color rise from underneath his shirt and up his neck to his face, but then, when he turned to face her, he noticed that she also looked angry and aloof, and suddenly the evening seemed destined to go further downhill than it had already traveled.

Halfway through their meal, Malfoy entered the Great Hall with Camilia on his arm. She had sat at the Slytherin table before, and did so this evening as well. Harry noticed that Camilia looked angry and aloof, and seemed to be making a careful effort _not_ to look at the Gryffindor table.

Ginny watched Camilia enter as well, and apparently had finally decided that this was the right time to discuss her original argument with Camilia. She turned to face him Harry, and he could not place the look in her eyes. Then her lower lip started to quiver, and he knew he was in for it.

"I talked to her again before dinner. She was absolutely furious, Harry," said Ginny in a low, shaky voice. "She thinks I somehow personally insulted her by overhearing what Malfoy had to say!"

"You know how she is," said Harry, "always trying to show everyone that she's got everything under control. But she can't control Malfoy, Ginny, and I think that what we heard has probably proved that to her."

Ginny looked affronted. "It hasn't at all! She has the book, doesn't she? And rather than accept that she can't control him, she tells me I shouldn't have listened? I was trying to look out for her! Not spy on Malfoy!" Ginny paused, and then added, "Well, at least, look out for her even if it _meant_ spying on Malfoy."

Ron looked up from his roasted chicken leg. "She's still your friend, Gin," he said, wiping his mouth with his forearm.

"I could certainly tell, too," she replied sullenly.

Hermione saw fit to interrupt. "Look…first of all, it's Valentine's Day, so let's not let this ruin it. Second, if I found out from you or Harry that Ron had been talking to his father about turning me over to Vol…" She looked at Harry, and steeled herself to finish. "Sorry, Voldemort. If Ron had been talking to your dad, telling him he was about to turn me over, I'd have a hard time with it, too… I'd be devastated at the very thought and want to believe it was a mistake…I might even go so far as to blame you or Harry for listening, like if you hadn't heard it, it might never have happened…but I'd know, deep down, that my friends wouldn't lie to me, Ginny. And maybe another part of the problem – another source of her anger, I mean – is that she thought she had him under control and now realizes she doesn't. Or maybe she's embarrassed that someone else realizes she can't entirely control the situation. Either way, I wouldn't take it personally, really. She'll snap out of it."

"Or she won't," added Harry. Hermione glared at him.

"Yes, she will!" she corrected.

"Possibly, but I think she might just go on being steamed until she can find a way to prove us wrong…to prove that Malfoy would never do anything of the sort – you know, give her to Voldemort – and that she had it all under control after all. She's a bit of a control freak, if you hadn't noticed," concluded Harry.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all nodded slowly. Everyone had noticed. Camilia seemed to take every opportunity to prove her abilities and assert her independence. They all considered the fact for a moment, and it was Ginny who broke the silence.

"Well, now that she's gotten him to give her that book, I don't think we'll ever convince her that she can't control the situation. Guess I'll just give her her space, then. But you're wrong, Hermione…she's made it personal. You should have heard her upstairs earlier. I'll just be sure not to step on any more toes until those have mended," she added sarcastically. She shook her head, preparing herself to launch back into her tirade. "I just _don't_ understand – "

"I SAID DROP YOUR WAND!" Camilia's voice rebounded off the walls, cutting off not only Ginny's words, but all conversation in the Great Hall.

"You're a GRYFFINDOR, Camilia! What the bloody hell do you want to sit with this BASTARD for?" demanded Dean at the top of his lungs.

"I SIT where I WANT to sit, WHEN I want to sit there! I sure as hell wouldn't sit within TEN FEET of YOU if I had another option!" shouted Camilia in return.

"You SIT with the SLYTHERINS, you ruddy TRAITOR!" he replied, every bit as put out as Camilia.

"I am NOT a TRAITOR, you idiotic OAF of a BOY! And NOW I choose to sit with the Slytherins because I don't want to be anywhere near YOU, so BACK OFF!" she yelled, nearing hysterics.

"That's not it, Camilia…YOU sit with the Slytherins because you're a PRITCHARD whose GETTING SOME from your RACIST FUCKING BOYFRIEND!" shouted Dean.

"How DARE YOU?" she screamed, standing up from the bench.

As soon as Camilia stood, Professors Snape and McGonagall and dear, bewildered Hagrid rose from their seats at the head table, each making their way quickly to the Slytherin table.

"How dare _I_? How dare YOU? A Pritchard, calling yourself a Gryffindor and shagging a RACIST?" he demanded.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME, THOMAS! NOTHING!" Camilia's hatred had visibly risen to a fever pitch. "SO NOW I'M JUST A PRITCHARD, AM I? YOU WANT TO SEE A PRITCHARD?" she shrieked.

"NO!" screamed McGonagall, halfway to Camilia, but Camilia payed her no mind. Instead she thrust her hands forward, her arms in front of her, and raised them above her head, engulfing Dean Thomas in a tangle of blue electric thunderbolts and lifting him into the air above the neighboring Ravenclaw table. He began to scream, wondering what she might do to him, but others in the Great Hall believed he was screaming from pain and began to scream themselves. She then flipped her palms, outstretched, toward the ceiling and released Dean, who began plummeted toward the floor almost thirty feet below. By this time Hagrid had run the length of the room as was positioning himself to catch Dean who landed squarely in Hagrid's outstretched arms.

Snape watched as McGonagall reached Camilia and took her, by the ear, from the room without so much as a single a word; it appeared to the entire room that perhaps Camilia would next be seen without that ear, as McGonagall had such a firm grasp on it. Snape then commanded Hagrid to take Dean to the hospital wing to be checked for any injuries, fearing it likely that Dean had broken at least a few bones upon impact with Hagrid's solid frame. Once Hagrid had left the Great Hall, Snape turned a full circle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, surveying the students, all soundless once more. "You shall finish your meals and return to your dormitories. I expect to hear nothing more about this incident." There was no response, and everyone's eyes were still on Snape. "EAT!" he commanded, and once again the clinking of silverware on dishes and the tinkle of glasses could be heard in the Great Hall. Conversations began again, first at a whisper, and then as a steady buzz. "You," said Snape, turning back to the Slytherin table and looking directly at Malfoy. "I want you in my office as soon as you're done." With that, he turned and exited the Great Hall.

The moment he'd left, conversation in the Great Hall really began to pick up. Ron leaned forward across the table to his cohorts. "Oh – My – God," he said, then threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the door to make sure that Snape hadn't suddenly and mysteriously reappeared. "Guess she'd have made a better Slytherin after all, eh?"

Harry wasn't so sure. "I don't know about that, Ron. Seems to me she just stood up for her family name…"

"Sorry, Harry," Ron replied. "You heard Dean; he called Malfoy a racist. Whatever Malfoy said to him to set him off must've been really bad because even Dean's made cracks about being one of the few black students at Hogwarts."

Ginny was peeved that, once again, Harry had tried to stand up for Camilia. "Happy Valentine's Day, eh? Here, Dean, let's have Malfoy insult you for your heritage, and then Camilia nearly kill you for standing up for yourself."

"She wasn't defending Malfoy's behavior, Gin, just Dean's attack on her character," Harry said, again by way of defense.

"Maybe that's true, and maybe it isn't," Ginny chimed in, "but I'll tell you what I've learned from the past few hours: Never, _ever_, cross a Pritchard."

As dinner came to an end, Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and noticed Malfoy dragging his feet; he certainly didn't seem to want to finish his meal, and Harry wondered if he was intentionally delaying his arrival in Snape's office. Hoping that Malfoy would remain just a bit longer, Harry excused himself from the table, to Ginny's dismay, and raced to the Gryffindor Common Room, yelling "_Accio Cloak!_". He immediately donned his invisibility cloak and ran as quickly as he could back down to the Great Hall, where, thankfully, Malfoy was just getting up from his meal.

Harry stood back as Malfoy passed, looking sullen and alone, and secretly hoped that Malfoy would go slowly so Harry could relish his misery. He let him pass, waiting at the top of the stairs to the dungeons until Malfoy had reached the bottom, and just as he was about to descend after him, he noticed Camilia coming down the stairs, staring in the direction Malfoy had just gone. She had a perplexed look on her face, and at first Harry could not tell whether it was due to McGonagall's lecture or that she had seen Malfoy and was wondering where he was going, but when she started quickly toward him, Harry knew she'd seen Malfoy and was planning to follow him herself. She had almost reached the stairs to the dungeon when Harry threw his cloak over her and continued with her. She started, and before she could make a noise, Harry clamped his hand over her mouth.

"This is an invisibility cloak," he whispered. "It was my dad's. I was going to follow him, too, so let's just do it together."

Her eyes bore into him. "I'd rather do it alone," she stated.

"But you'll need my cloak," he countered, "and to get that, you'll have to let me come with you."

Camilia knew better than to lose time considering alternatives. "Fine," she said. "Let's go. But hurry!"

They took the stairs rapidly…so rapidly that Harry thought at one point he might stumble trying to keep up with Camilia. When they reached the Potions room, the door was not only unlocked but open, and the lights were lit. Harry felt relief, having wondered how he'd manage to get them inside without drawing attention to them because of a door opening on its own.

They stepped into the room and carefully between the desks to the office area, but the door there was also open, so it wasn't necessary for them to be too near to overhear the conversation being held. For the second time in as many weeks, Harry found himself spying on Malfoy, in the Potions Dungeon, with a girl at his side.

"…appeared in my fireplace an hour ago, told me to tell you he had granted your request, and _this_ is how you repay him?" Snape was demanding of Malfoy.

"Sir, I didn't do anything – " Malfoy began in protest.

"Do you think I'm a fool? That boy certainly wouldn't have leapt to a challenge like that, but for you! Your task is simple, _and if you fail_…" said Snape, letting his words hang in the air.

"I won't fail," replied Malfoy.

"I should hope not. Your father has made and is making a great many sacrifices for you, Draco. That book alone is a sacrifice beyond your comprehension. Your repayment must consist of more than stirring up Gryffindors!" Snape said with finality.

"Yes, sir," Malfoy said, hanging his head.

"Let me repeat: one more instance like that, and she will be expelled," Snape reminded him. "None of us can afford to let that happen."

Harry looked at Camilia under the cloak, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. Camilia nodded. Harry had not, until then, known what she had discussed in McGonagall's office, but it seemed that, though he had himself wreaked havoc on the school a number of times, it was Camilia who was in danger of losing her place at Hogwarts.

Snape was continuing. "I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow night at your detention."

"Detention!" spluttered Malfoy. "But I didn't – "

"What you did," interrupted Snape, "was endanger your mission, yourself, your father, and every Death Eater involved in enabling you to complete your mission! For heaven's sake, Draco, be a man! You will have detention with me every night for the next two weeks until and unless you are finally able to admit your mistake. You will be here tomorrow night at eight o'clock sharp, do you understand me?" he demanded.

Malfoy replied through a clenched jaw. "Yes, sir," he agreed.

"Now get back to your common room, and…"

Harry nudged Camilia and pointed underneath the cloak toward the door. "Move," he whispered as quietly as he could.

They made their way quickly but carefully back between the desks and out the door, but as Harry began to head toward the stairs, Camilia grabbed on to his arm and held him against the wall opposite the door. A moment later, Malfoy stormed out and down the hall toward the Slytherin Common Room. Shortly thereafter, Snape stepped through the door, having already magically darkened the room, and closed and latched it. He strode back toward the stairs, and as soon as he has halfway up, Camilia turned, still holding Harry's arm, and raced after Malfoy.

"Camilia! We can't! We don't have the password!" he protested.

"_You_ don't have the password," she corrected. Harry was stunned. He hadn't known she'd spent any time in the Slytherin Common Room.

They reached the Slytherin Common Room entrance, which Harry recognized immediately from having been there his second year, and Camilia mumbled "Nightshade." Suddenly they were in the room, and it was not difficult to locate Malfoy, who had apparently thrown himself onto a green velvet couch near the fireplace when he'd entered. When Harry realized what Malfoy was up to, he turned to see Camilia's reaction. Her jaw was clenched tight and her gaze was riveted to Pansy Parkinson's fingers in Draco Malfoy's hair as he lay with his head in her lap.

"…wasn't there," she was saying to him. "_I_ thought it was _brilliant_."

"The stupid wanker had it coming. You saw how supercilious he was about his potion turning out so well the other day…I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. And then he had the audacity to point out that mine wasn't magenta. Bastard."

"I loved the look on his face! I don't know of anyone else who'd be willing to call him that to his face, Draco," she smiled down at him.

"He may consider himself a pureblood, but he'll always be just a nigger to me," Malfoy assured her. Harry, realizing what had transpired between Dean and Malfoy that had caused Dean to react as he did, felt his body go rigid.

"Was it worth detention?" Pansy was asking.

"The question is, was it worth seeing how far her powers have developed," he corrected. "And the answer is, by far."

"I don't want to talk about her," snapped Pansy.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" shrugged Malfoy. They stared at one another for a moment, and Harry noticed that Camilia's fingers had curled into fists. He feared she might do something to one or both of them, and wondered how much more they would provoke her.

He received his answer a moment later. Pansy moved so she was sitting rather sideways, and put her hand to Malfoy's face. "Happy Valentine's Day, Draco," she whispered, leaned over, still staring at him, and then parted her lips in preparation for a kiss.

Malfoy had his hand up in front of his mouth in an instant. "Pansy, we've talked about this."

"I know," she whined, "but she doesn't have to know, and I don't mind! You can still be with her if you want…just use me if you want! Truly, it doesn't bother me!"

"For God's sake, don't be such a whore, Pansy," he scolded her. "It's over between us. I'm with Camilia. If you want to be my friend, fine, but…" Malfoy seemed to realize exactly what was happening then. "Get your hands off me!" He shoved her away from him. "I swear, if you cast another spell or slip me another love potion _one more time_, I'll – "

Malfoy didn't need to finish his thought, because right then, Pansy shrieked. While Malfoy had been talking, Camilia had been slowly and deliberately directing Harry toward the couch, and the moment he mentioned love spells and potions, Camilia took a generous handful of Pansy's hair and yanked it as hard as she could. Pansy whirled around, looking for the culprit, and though Harry was inclined to move hastily away from the couch, Camilia stood rooted to the spot, unflinching, even daring Pansy to discover her there. When Pansy concluded that no one was near enough to her to have pulled her hair, she turned sulkily to the fire, and Camilia, head held high, took Harry's arm once more and sauntered out of the room. Neither of them turned back toward the couch. If they had, they'd have noticed Malfoy turn both his head and his eyes slightly in their direction, a small smile playing at his lips.

"That was amazing," said Harry once they had made it to the stairs leading to Gryffindor tower. "But tell me something. You had so much control in there, and yet…you came so close to taking off Dean's head at dinner. Why?"

"Has anyone ever insulted your parents, Harry? Someone who had no knowledge of them whatsoever, someone who assumed that you, as their child, would be just like all the rumors they'd heard? Just by associating you with them?" Harry thought of his Aunt Marge, who he'd blown up like a balloon his third year for the very same thing. "Something in you just snaps. You don't even have to know your parents…just be related to them…and still, it's like a light switch in your brain." Harry reflected briefly that only a Muggle, or one very familiar with Muggle terms, would understand the analogy of "a light switch." "Just because I'm a Pritchard doesn't mean I'm Charles Pritchard, and it damn well doesn't mean my parents were like him. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," said Harry, nodding. "If it hadn't been for Sirius my third year, I'd have been expelled too, for doing the same thing." Harry stopped walking, realizing he hadn't spoken of Sirius much this year…not since…

"I do need to apologize to Dean…what Draco said really was awful. Oh, and I need to apologize to him for, you know, flinging him up into the air, of course," she chuckled callously. "That too." She noticed as she spoke that Harry had not continued to walk with her. "You okay, Harry?" she asked.

He looked like someone had shaken him back to reality. "Fine," he stammered. "I'm fine." He walked blindly up the steps to the landing Camilia had reached, and turned to face her, looking as though he was just noticing her.

"Harry?" she asked again, just as Harry's face crumbled. She put her arms around him and let him cry into her bosom, holding him, and helping him to an alcove where they sat on a stone bench and he shared with her all that had happened in the Department of Mysteries.

It was the longest, most miserable Valentine's Day Harry could ever remember having.


	14. Disappointments

Chapter 14 – Disappointments

The next day, Dean was missing from his classes. Harry, Ron and Hermione assumed that he was spending so extra time in the hospital wing, perhaps with Madam Pomfrey healing some broken bones. It was Hermione who finally asked Harry the question she and Ron had been mulling over in their minds since the night before.

"Where were you last night, Harry?" she inquired, looking at the potion she was brewing rather than at Harry.

"Spying on Malfoy," came his reply.

"Shouldn't you have let that go? I mean, just for last night?" she countered.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his stomach tightening.

"It was Valentine's Day, Harry!" Ron chimed in. "For hell's sake, Ginny spent the rest of the evening alone! You abandoned my little sister…on Valentine's Day!" Finally Harry understood why Ron had been so detached this morning.

"I'm…I'm sorry," sighed Harry, shaking his head. "It's just…I had to see what – "

Ron interrupted. "You always have to see what Malfoy's up to, or what the Slytherins are up to, or what _Camilia's_ up to," he said, adding extra emphasis on Camilia's name.

"What are you implying?" Harry invited, looking Ron in the eye.

"I'm not implying anything!" lied Ron. "You just spend a whole lot of time with Malfoy's girlfriend is all, especially when you should be spending that time with your own!"

Harry blanched. He knew Ron was right, and he knew also that he was going to have to redouble his efforts to attain Ginny's forgiveness for the previous night. He concluded that directly after Potions, during their between-class break, he'd see if he could catch her in the common area and apologize for his having run off.

There were only fifteen minutes left of class when Snape announced that he had been summoned away, and that Malfoy, of all people, would be responsible for the balance of the class. Each student was to place two measures of their completed potion in a glass bottle from the back of the room and leave it, clearly marked with their name and house, on his desk. He was halfway out the door as he explained this to the students, and by the time anyone thought to ask questions, he was gone.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all managed to finish their potions on time, and, thanks to Hermione's tutelage, Ron's had achieved the proper beige hue and correct consistency. Harry, having spent the balance of the class dreading his conversation with Ginny and wondering where Snape had disappeared to in such a hurry, found that his potion was woefully thick and a putrid snot color.

As the three left the classroom, Ron and Hermione went their own way, realizing that Harry would need to confront his abandonment of Ginny on his own. Harry started toward the stairs, passing an open classroom door on his way, when he heard what was unmistakably Camilia's voice wafting from the room. He stopped on the other side of the open door and listened with all his might to the conversation she was having…with none other than Professor Snape. _So this is where we was mysteriously summoned to_, he thought, and tuned in to hear what they were saying. He thought briefly of retrieving his invisibility cloak from his knapsack that he'd hurriedly stuffed in it early this morning, but realized he wanted instead to catch as much of their conversation as he could.

"Did it hurt?" she was asking Snape.

"Like nothing I've ever felt before," he replied.

"Why did you do it?" she questioned him.

Harry strained to hear his response, but he was speaking so low now that Harry couldn't understand a word he said.

Camilia was speaking again. "They'd kill you for that, you know."

Harry was amazed by Snape's retort. "The Headmaster may allow you to speak so casually to him, but you'll find that I respond differently to teenagers, Miss Pritchard."

"Sorry, sir," came her reply.

Harry wanted desperately to stay and listen some more, but new that it was likely they'd be leaving the room soon and he couldn't chance being caught; more importantly, he reminded himself, he still needed to find Ginny so he could apologize, and he set off toward Gryffindor Tower.

Thinking perhaps he'd need to sneak his way into the girls' dormitories to find Ginny, he opted now to don his cloak, then slipped through the portrait hole when a small second year entered only a couple minutes later.

He was not at all prepared for what he found.

Ginny was on the couch in front of the fireplace with none other than Dean Thomas. She had both legs slung across his lap, and her arm around his shoulder. He, in turn, was leaning against her and letting her play absently with his dreadlocks. "Poor, poor Dean," she was saying, smiling coyly as she did. "That Draco Malfoy is such a beast. I can't believe you even let him make you angry. And then to have Camilia humiliate you like that. It's an injustice."

"An injustice my people have suffered for hundreds of years," Dean agreed. "I didn't guess that Malfoy would be any different, of course, but you'd think a Gryffindor would stand up for her own."

"Exactly," Ginny granted him. "It was inhuman, what they did to you."

"No, Gin, what's inhuman is what Harry did to you last night. He has the most gorgeous girl in the school all to himself on the most romantic day of the year, and he abandons you." Harry felt his heart sink.

Ginny, however, didn't seem too upset. "Well, you know Harry, always off on some stupid escapade."

He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. _Stupid escapade_? he thought angrily.

"Still," argued Dean, "You'd think he could give up following that vicious Malfoy-slut around like a puppy dog for just five minutes on Valentine's Day, wouldn't you? 'Poor Camilia, whatever will happen to her? What if she gets expelled for' _nearly breaking my body in half_?" roared Dean.

"Shhhh, Dean," said Ginny, trying both to calm and comfort him, and continuing to stroke his hair. "Forget about her, and forget about Harry. He missed his chance with me, all right?" Listening to all this, Harry had the sudden, miserable feeling that he might throw up.

"Good. The prat doesn't deserve you," said Dean.

"And at least I got a pair of diamond earrings out of the deal, eh?" responded Ginny, touching her ear where the earrings still rested.

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe.

"They're beautiful, I have to admit," sighed Dean, "almost as beautiful as you, Ginny." Harry watched in horror as Dean lifted Ginny's chin toward him and began to kiss her. Their kisses became more passionate, and yet he stood and watched them melt into one another. He only snapped out of it when a group of first years stepped through the portrait hole behind him, at which point he turned and fled.

Harry spoke to no one the rest of the day; he skived off his classes and spent the majority of the morning, afternoon, and evening holed up in the Room of Requirement staring at the Marauder's Map, watching people move about along the corridors and in the rooms of Hogwarts.

First he blamed Camilia for Ginny and Dean, for being what Ginny obviously perceived to be beautiful, talented competition for his love. He was angry with her for dating Malfoy, for blowing up at Dean, even for talking to Snape, and he spent an unhealthy amount of time pondering the meaning of what he'd overheard transpire between she and Snape.

But Camilia was a friend…he could dismiss her behaviors due to her circumstances and situation. So he turned to blaming Malfoy, because Malfoy was always the easy target. He had ensnared Camilia, taunted Dean, and was just generally the biggest wanker at Hogwarts. But he'd also seen Malfoy turn Pansy Parkinson away, and he _had_ given Camilia the book she'd requested. He still didn't trust Malfoy, but even as the racist, elitist that he was, he _wasn't_ at fault for Ginny and Dean.

So it had to be Dean at fault. But could he really blame Dean, who had, hours before, been called the most repulsive name one could find for a black man and then flung thirty feet into the air for it? Sure, Dean had said some horrible things about Harry, but he could almost dismiss those as having been Dean's pathetic attempt at "getting the girl."

It must, therefore, be Ginny's fault. She was a good-for-nothing-tramp who thought of no one but herself and had trapped Harry into falling for her. That was it. But Harry knew deep down that that _wasn't_ it. He knew that it was likely she was covering her wounds by pretending that diamonds were an apt reward for having had to deal with Harry. He knew that she was using Dean as a substitute for Harry, and that, in comforting Dean, the logical progression there was to go from comfort to affection to intimacy. It was _seeing_ the comfort, affection, and intimacy that was most difficult, but still, it made sense.

But that didn't make it forgivable. Harry's insides were churning, and he was angrier and more displaced-feeling than he'd ever been. He sat staring at the map all day, his temper flaring as he watched Ginny's name depart the common room, Dean's name end up in about the place his bed would be in their dormitory, Hermione and Ron's names travel around the school together and land back in the common room together, Camilia and Malfoy's name next to one another in the library. He found himself shaking, whether from anger, hurt, or overload, he wasn't sure.

Finally, Harry decided to blame himself. He was interested in Camilia and had been from the moment he'd seen her. He hated Malfoy for a million reasons, not the least of which was his usurping the odd American girl. He had a great affection for Ginny, but he wasn't it love with her, he realized. Instead, he was in love with love. Everyone had someone: Ron had Hermione, Camilia had Malfoy, Ginny now had Dean, and it was even rumored that Neville and Luna Lovegood had taken an interest in one another and could occasionally be found romancing each other in the greenhouses after classes. He, Harry, was the only one left out in the cold, and now even Ginny had left him to himself. Or, rather, he'd kicked himself out into the cold, being so wrapped up in untangling and deciphering the schemes and plots of Voldemort and his Death Eaters that he had abandoned the affection he had been offered.

Broken-hearted, Harry sat back against the wall in the Room of Requirement which this time resembled a small, tight Catholic confessional. It might have been a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, when he noticed Camilia's name travel from the Great Hall to Professor Dumbledore's office. It remained in his office alongside his name for quite some time, when finally it came streaking from the room. He leapt from his hideaway and raced to intercept her, and when he did, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Want to know what happened in 'class' just now, do you?" she challenged. "Is that why you're here?"

"I…I'm sorry, I just thought…" stammered Harry.

"Fine, then! Here!" She threw the book Malfoy had given her directly at Harry, hitting him square in the chest. He only just managed to hang on to it without dropping it, the wind knocked out of him. As he gasped for breath, she continued her rant. "There's NOTHING THERE, all right? Not a damn thing! All that time, all that effort, all that work, and Albus was WRONG! There's no suicide spell, nothing that mentions the family curse, and no reason I had to see it! This book is worthless! It's a relic, a list of twisted dark magic and even practical uses for the dark arts, but for the Pritchard family? It's MEANINGLESS!"

Harry, who had just regained the ability to breathe properly, had no idea what to say. Instead, he leafed through the book, wondering if what she was saying could possibly be true. "But…didn't Dumbledore – "

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT ANYTHING, HARRY! NOTHING! There is NOTHING in that BOOK! IT IS ENTIRELY WORTHLESS!" Camilia began to walk past Harry on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, but Harry grabbed her arm.

"Camilia – " he started, but was cut off once again.

"Don't – you – touch – me," she hissed in his face. "_You're_ his protégé, you know. Let him teach _you_ to conjure flowers and butterflies and curtains of bubbles and bullshit like that. I've had enough of it. I've had enough of Albus, and I've had enough of you. Leave – me – alone."

He let her go. Now was not the time to ask her about the exchange he'd overheard earlier with Snape, nor to tell her about Ginny and Dean. When he'd seen her emerge from Dumbledore's office, he was actually looking forward to discussing his womanly woes with a friend, but Camilia had proved a bit too self-involved for the moment to complain to.

Dejected, Harry ambled up and down the corridors of the school, wandering aimlessly and gloomily until he found himself in front of the library. He looked down at the Pritchard's book in his hands and resolved that Camilia had been wrong; there had to be something in the book that would prove meaningful, or at least useful in ascertaining Charity Pritchard's purpose in committing suicide so spectacularly.

He drifted into the library and took a cushy seat near the door, scanning the periodicals out of habit. There was, of course, Witch Weekly, but they also had The Ministry Today, Broom and Rider, Department of Mysteries Magazine, and various other female and teen-oriented wizarding magazines. What Harry was really interested in, though, was the book he was holding.

He took a good look at the book and found that the pages were old and worn, and the writing was hard to interpret. It all appeared to be dark magic: there were spells for Muggle bewitchment, for being more "convincing" to friend and foe, for building fortunes, for summoning people and spirits, and even for altering time, but there was nothing about curse-breaking or protecting one's family, nothing about self-sacrifice…at least, not anything positive about self-sacrifice.

As he flipped through the pages, taking his time, going from cover to cover, he knew there was something he was missing. There was something in this book that was important enough for Camilia's ancestor to seek after it, dark magic and all, and it wasn't until Madam Pince began extinguishing the lights in the library that Harry gave up trying to figure out what it was.

When he returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, he found Hermione and Ron in front of the fireplace in the group's usual spot on the couch. He reviewed with them the days' events, and though Hermione was sympathetic to his frustrations, Ron merely shrugged at the news that things would not work out between his sister and his best mate. "Your loss, Harry," he said callously.

Harry, who had been planning on telling them about his conversation with Camilia and her conversation with Snape, decided that he no longer had the desire to be in their company and dismissed himself from their presence, no less frustrated than he'd felt all day.

As he started to walk away, Hermione called after him, "Hey, Harry, isn't that…the book?" She had noticed the volume he had under his arm, and her curiosity had been peaked.

"It is," replied Harry, "but if you'll excuse me…I'm ready for bed." Harry sauntered from the room, secretly pleased that Hermione would finally be unable to get her hands on that which most intrigued her: a book that could feasibly be the answer to the mystery of Charity Pritchard's death. It had been a miserably disappointing day indeed. It's only redeeming quality came at just the right time for Harry Potter: he had withheld information from his two best friends in exchange for them withholding their friendships. Harry was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.


	15. Drawing Closer

Chapter 15 – Drawing Closer

Days passed, and finally Harry, Ron and Hermione were talking again, friends as ever. Harry talked things over with Ginny, and they decided to continue to date, but not exclusively. Camilia drew farther from the group and spent the vast majority of her time with the Slytherins; she still spoke to her fellow Gryffindors, but not with any great regularity. Harry tried on a number of occasions to discuss with her the evening they'd had their confrontation, but Camilia was unwilling, and even more unwilling to discuss the book she had left in Harry's possession. All he could get from her, in fact, was that she had discontinued her lessons with Professor Dumbledore.

"Do you think that's wise?" he had asked her.

"I know what I'm doing," she had told him, and that had been the end of the conversation.

Days turned into weeks, and Camilia became more distant. Harry, Ron and Hermione did their best to keep her included in their circle of friends, but she seemed less and less interested in spending time with them. On one occasion, because her behavior had been so strange, Harry found himself examining her forearms from across the room and knew that, if he was even now searching for a Dark Mark, Camilia was traveling roads she oughtn't.

It was at the beginning of May that Harry found his opportunity to get on Camilia's good side. He was up studying late one night, lying in his bed with his Potions textbook open on his lap, when he had the strong impression that he should reach for the Marauder's Map. After fishing around in his trunk for it, he tapped the map with his wand and muttered the proper incantation to get it to work its magic: "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The map came to life, and after he'd studied it for only a little while, he found what he'd been looking for. On the third floor, where Hagrid had once kept Fluffy, were two names; Draco Malfoy and Camilia Pritchard. He wasn't sure how long they'd been there, but that was not what got his attention. Mrs. Norris' name was hovering outside the door behind which the two were positioned, and then it was moving away from the door…and advancing up the stairs…and heading straight towards Filch's office, whose name was hovering inside.

Harry knew he had no time to waste; he threw his invisibility cloak on over his pajamas, donned his sneakers, which he deemed less noisy than his slippers, and made for the door. Ron and Hermione noticed only a breeze pass outside his curtains…they never broke away from their activities to see what might have been happening, and wouldn't have anyway, knowing that Hermione was supposed to be nowhere near Ron's bed.

Malfoy had planned his speech to the letter; he was determined to give her just enough information to make her believe he had her best interests at heart, but not enough to give away anything that might endanger his mission. It was working beautifully. Camilia believed only that Malfoy had had this information weighing on his heart, and that he cared so much for her that he found this to be the right time to make his confession.

"By the time he found you, he'd been looking for two years. Every orphanage, every foster care family…it took him ages. He even came across another Pritchard girl, and she had a temper like nothing he'd ever seen, but she never showed any signs of magic, even when she was explosively angry, he told me. But when he found you, he said he knew immediately. You were undeniably the girl from the prophecy. He was baffled, he said, that you had been oblivious to your abilities for so long."

At this point Malfoy made a very strategic move: he took Camilia's hand, and verbally feigned his own surprise at the news that she hadn't recognized how different, how superior she was to all those around her. If Draco Malfoy had learned anything from his parents, it was that flattery could and did get you everywhere.

He then proceeded with his tale. "He sent Belletrix, you'll meet her, she's one of my favorite family members, to arrange with your school to come to England…a historical reward for their wonderful job as the top orphanage in Massachusetts. She even offered the school some sort of scholarship; my father spent quite literally thousands of Galleons to pay the Muggle aeroplane fares to bring you and the Muggles to London. Muggles do a fine job of vacationing, of course, so it took very little effort on the part of my family to schedule their trip. It was when you were at King's Cross that you were to be taken; it was my mother who came up with the idea. She had an old handbag my father had given her years ago…just some Christmas present. The Muggles would have paid a fortune for it. She left it in the ladies' toilet, full of as many Muggle items as she could lay hands on, and when you passed by, she was waiting. The only way she knew to get you into the ladies' room was to put you under Imperius; she wasn't too keen on the idea, but it was the best she and father could come up with.

"Father had seen you in Boston; he had said that he knew the handbag would tempt you, and that would be the first step to confirming your heritage. When mother entered the ladies' toilet a few minutes after you'd gone in and you and the handbag had vanished, she apparated into our living room and informed my father, who disapparated immediately. He arrived moments later in the Forbidden Forest, and he said he was quite concerned when he discovered you could not fight off the Acromantulas, but he was still quite sure you were who you are, so he halted them with a mass stunning spell. He asked a werewolf in the service of the Dark Lord, one Greyback, if he'd be willing to undergo a forced transformation to prove you a Pritchard, and of course Greyback agreed, provided if you weren't the Pritchard of the prophecy, you'd be his dinner."

At this point Camilia had to interrupt. "His _what_?" she exclaimed.

"Dinner," repeated Malfoy.

"Are you _serious_?" she asked, incredulous. Malfoy nodded. "How could your father possibly agree to that? If I hadn't been a witch, he'd have let me be _eaten_ by a _werewolf_?" She was horrified.

"Camilia, you are the one. It doesn't matter what might have happened; the point is that it _is_ you. My father watched from the trees at the edge of the forest as you erected a wandless defense against one of the most ferocious and sadistic creatures of the magical world. Your magic – he said it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. I would argue that he was wrong, of course," he added, winking and continuing his flattery, "but he said it was exquisite: a virtual shield of transparent blue light surrounding your entire body. You, Camilia, are She. You are the one about whom the Oracle at Delphi prophesied. And my father found you," he finished with a spoken flourish.

"He almost killed me," she corrected him.

"He brought us together," he countered. "He introduced you to the world in which you should have been raised, surrounded by the people who would have befriended you."

Camilia thought a moment. _The people who would have befriended me. Harry. Ron. Hermione. Ginny. Draco. The Weasleys. TheGryffindors._ Somehow the rest of Malfoy's friends, his parents, and even a healthy portion the Slytherins didn't fit into that mental image Camilia had of those who would have befriended her. She shook off the fear that leapt to her mind – the fear that those who whom she had united herself were not those with whom she should have allowed herself to be united.

"Something wrong, love?" asked Draco, trying hard not to choke on the term of endearment.

"Nothing, Draco. I'm sorry. I'm still thinking about that werewolf. And those spiders. Ugh. I thought I was going to die, you know."

"My father asked me to express his deepest apologies; he could think of no other way to confirm that you are indeed the one so desperately sought after."

"Why was he so desperate to know? He's a Death Eater, Draco, and so are you. Are you guys planning on turning me over to old Voldy or something?" she asked, attempting to sound cavalier.

Camilia's phrasing was, to Draco, perfect, and enabled him to be earnest in his reply. He looked deeply into her eyes and said, "Camilia, I could never turn you over 'Old Voldy.' Never." He kissed her on the mouth then, deeply, savoring the taste of her, the smell of her. He wrapped his hand in her tresses and drank deeply of the foolish young woman before him.

She, on the other hand, was not relishing their activities as much as she had in the past. Though she willingly kissed Malfoy back, her mind was racing with images of the people she'd forsaken, Lucius Malfoy standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest watching her be attacked by a violent animal, the clacking jaws of a giant spider inches from her face, and Albus Dumbledore, weeping like a child after a draught of Polyjuice Potion wore off.

Just as she was beginning to feel woozy, the door to the room burst open. She was waiting for Filch's cackle to denote her and Malfoy's having been caught, but instead she heard Malfoy say, "That's you, isn't it, _Potter_? You in your _illegal_ cloak. Is voyeurism a habit of all Gryffindors, or just you?"

_Malfoy knows Harry has an invisibility cloak?_ thought Camilia, but before she had time to process the possible meaning of that revelation, Harry's head had appeared floating before her eyes.

"I'm saving you from detention, you stupid git," answered Harry. "Filch is on his way here now, and unless we leave this very instant, we'll all be caught out of bounds after hours."

"Noble, Potter, but we can't all fit under your cloak, now, can we?" drawled Malfoy.

"We don't all have to fit under my cloak. You're headed to the dungeons. Camilia and I are the only two who need cover to get back to the tower. So, if I were you – and thank Merlin I'm not – I'd be on my way, because you _don't_ have an invisibility cloak, illegal or not."

Malfoy paused just a moment to consider an alternative – any other alternative, because he'd hoped to feed Camilia's ego and attend to her physical desires a bit longer – but when he realized there were none, he turned toward the door and slipped through without another word.

"Draco!" she hissed after him, hoping he'd hear her, but hoping also not to be heard by Filch. When he did not return, she succumbed to Harry's kindness and allowed him to sweep the cloak over the both of them.

They crept past Filch and Mrs. Norris, not daring to breathe as they walked by, hoping against hope that Mrs. Norris would not sense them. She turned in their direction when they were a few feet beyond Filch, but meowed softly – a cat's version of shaking her head – and proceeded on with her master.

When the two had reached the portrait hole, Harry slipped out from underneath the cloak and gave the password. The Fat Lady, who had been sleeping, awoke with a start, wondering why she hadn't heard Harry approach, but did not question how it was that he came to be before her, nor what he was doing out at that late hour. Harry had had late night detentions before; she assumed this was nothing more than another punishment.

He looked in Camilia's direction, tilting his head slightly toward the portrait hole to motion her inside, when she spoke. "I'm not going in there."

"Who was that?" demanded the Fat Lady. The portrait, having swung away from the wall, was in a position that kept her from seeing who else might have joined Harry.

"You have to. You'll get caught if you stay out here."

"I don't care."

"Look, you," Harry said, becoming irritable, "I just risked my skin to come save yours from Filch – "

"Why _did_ you do that, Harry? Nothing better to do on a Thursday night than interrupt a girl and her boyfriend?" she mused coldly.

"What's your problem?" Harry demanded.

"You want to know what my problem is?" inquired Camilia. "I sure as hell can't tell you in there!"

"Who IS that?" The Fat Lady was furious that Harry and his unknown companion were in her way; she could neither turn to see who Harry was speaking to, nor close the portrait hole with Harry in the way.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, and he pretended to enter into the common room, slipping under the cloak as he did so. Once underneath the cloak, he grabbed Camilia by the arm and steered her back toward the room she and Harry had just come from.

"Where are we going?" she asked him.

"Right back where we started from," he replied.

Camilia looked alarmed. "What about Filch?"

"Just let him catch me," said Harry. "But he won't. He never checks the same place twice…at least, not until a couple hours have passed."

"How do you know that?" she queried.

Harry wasn't about to tell her that he'd studied Filch's movements using the Marauder's Map. "We all have our secrets."

He stormed back into Fluffy's old room and finally let go of Camilia's arm, then spun toward the door and performed both a locking spell and a silencing spell, ensuring better than Malfoy had bothered that they wouldn't be interrupted. Harry was ready to have it out with Camilia, and he wasn't about to be stopped.

"Talk to me," he stated simply.

She looked long and hard at him. "I have nothing to say."

"Then you'd damn well better think of something to say, Camilia Pritchard, because I'm about ready to beat the living piss out of you," declared Harry.

"I'd like to see you try," she challenged.

Harry stared at her a moment, and then softened, visibly. "You would, wouldn't you? It would be easier to do battle with me than to talk with me, wouldn't it? You'd much prefer to make use of that astronomical power of yours than to understand the love your friends still have for you. Why is that?"

She took a deep breath, then turned to look out a window. "What do you want, Harry?" she questioned him.

"Why are you with Malfoy?" he asked by way of answer.

"We've been through this," she rejoined.

"Draco Malfoy is a vile, ruthless, wretched, scheming, wicked, depraved, immoral, contemptible, callous, cold blooded, unfeeling, miserable git. There is not an ounce of sincerity in his entire being. He has you fooled, Camilia. He wants you for Voldemort – nothing else – unless, of course, you count the occasional snog. He has never done anything for anyone but himself, unless it served him in some fashion. He has tricked you, Camilia. You have been duped. I don't know what it is he's planning or when he's planning it, but I know he is up to something, and whatever it is, it will put you in the gravest of danger. You refuse to hear anything say anything against him, calling it slander, but for God's sake! IT'S THE TRUTH!" Harry was yelling now, hoping that if nothing had gotten through Camilia's thick skull thus far, his volume might.

Camilia was silent for a long time, staring at the floor. Finally she looked Harry in the eye. "I know what this is," she said. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Tell me then, Camilia, what am I trying to do?"

"You're jealous of Draco. You want to break us up. That's what this is. The proverbial green-eyed monster finally makes its appearance, and would you look at that? It's got green eyes after all."

Harry wanted to slap the smug look off her face, but he restrained himself, using every ounce of self control he could muster.

"You're jealous, Harry, admit it. Draco is smarter than you, he's better looking than you, he certainly has a better body than you, he's more fun, more entertaining, he's easygoing, he's rich and powerful and he has me. You, Harry, are nothing like him, and it kills you."

Rather than react as he might have, Harry simply smiled and said, "At least I'm a better kisser than Draco…you've said it yourself."

Camilia felt like someone had pulled a rug out from under her. She did not even think to deny it, because Harry was right. And she knew that she'd been lying to Harry and to herself: Harry was intellectually gifted, terribly sexy, loads more fun and far more easygoing than Draco, and, because of his place in the original Prophecy and as the only wizard Voldemort feared, aside from Dumbledore, Harry was far more powerful than her boyfriend. She had also lied about the fact that Draco had her; since she'd first laid eyes on Harry, she had been thoroughly smitten by him.

Her pause was too long, and Harry knew he had her. "You're lying, Camilia. Why are you lying to me?"

"What does it matter?" she countered.

Harry took a deep breath. "Sometimes I hate you, you know that?"

"The feeling is mutual," she replied. "And sometimes, despite the fact that I'd love to throw you against a wall and watch you crumble to the floor…I also want to wrap you in my arms and…and…" She hung her head.

He could not be shocked, or even surprised, because he felt exactly the same way about her.

When she lifted her head again, he saw the tears streaming down her face and reached to wipe them. "DON'T – " she began, but then started to cry in earnest and fell against him, sobbing.

He took her in his arms, wiped her tears, and once more, as they had so many months ago, they began to kiss. Softly, at first, and then in earnest. Their kisses grew more passionate, and Harry took the liberty of exploring her tongue with his own. When he no longer felt sated by her mouth, he moved his lips to her neck and her ear, making her shudder. And when it finally dawned on him that the two could not afford any marks to be visible on her neck, he opted to move his kisses lower still. Before either of them knew what was happening, their robes had hit the floor. Moments later Camilia's shirt followed, and Harry saw for the first time the voluptuous curve of her bosom. He reached tentatively for her breasts, but Camilia stopped him; instead she unhooked her bra and let her breasts hang free, supple and touchable. Harry hesitated once again, wondering if that had been an invitation, so Camilia took his hands for him and placed them on her. He explored with his hands, soft at first, and then, as she began to respond to a firmer touch, he became rough. He was too riled up not to explore with his mouth, eliciting loud moans as his mouth took advantage of her bosom.

In her passion, she thrust his head away from her and attacked his clothes, scattering them about the room. She slid off her skirt just as easily, and then, still clad in her panties, she sat back and admired Harry's naked body. He had a young, strong, muscular build, and though he was at first put off by the feeling of being examined, he discovered quickly how pleased she was with what she saw; so pleased, in fact, that she slunk forward on her hands and knees until she was directly in front of Harry, kneeling before him. She pleasured him as best she could, inexperienced as she was, but Harry felt no reason to protest…no reason to do anything but thoroughly enjoy her attentions. He thought to himself, _She really can do powerful magic_, and, denying himself the opportunity to have her continue, he caught her by the arm and pulled her up next to him so he could remove her panties.

She was certainly a sight for sore eyes; her body was far more hourglass-shaped than many of the girls at Hogwarts. She had ample hips, a trim waist, a round, firm bottom, and looked like a pinup. Harry had tired of the long, skinny, straight-looking girls at the school; here was a curvaceous teenager with the body of a woman. Where some girls at sixteen would have been embarrassed by their curves, Camilia seemed proud of them, confident in her sexuality, and it made her ever-so-much sexier to Harry. She advanced toward Harry, pressing her naked body against him, feeling his hardness. He could resist no longer and, enfolding her in his arms, he pulled her toward the floor. He laid her down as carefully as he could in his ridiculously aroused state, wanting instead to throw her to the floor and pin her there. As he made to climb on top of her, she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him ever closer.

Sinking into her body was by far the most gratifying feeling he'd ever had; he was completely surrounded by her, safe and taken in, and she looked and smelled and sounded and felt heavenly. Harry could not get enough, relishing every thrust, and Camilia was hypnotized by their passion. So it was that there, on the hard stone floor of Fluffy's old room, Harry drove Camilia to heights of passion she had never before experienced; heights of passion she had never imagined possible. The two lost their collective virginity to each other, to their great surprise, and basked in their pleasure together well into the wee hours.

Eventually they would collect their clothes and make their way back to Gryffindor Tower, sneak into the common room and up to their dormitories, and crawl into their respective beds to sleep soundly until breakfast…but that was hours away, and they had plenty of time to finally fully enjoy the company of one another…the person for whom each of them had secretly yearned since the October before. Eventually they would continue with their individual lives at Hogwarts…but not yet.


	16. The Room of Requirement

Chapter 16 – The Room of Requirement

Much like when they had first kissed, Harry noticed that Camilia was adept at pretending nothing had happened. No one would have guessed that the two had slept together the night before, and no one would have guessed that they continued to sleep together, almost nightly, for the next three weeks.

They agreed that their lives would not change to accommodate their intimacy, and so Harry continued to date Ginny and Camilia continued to date Malfoy, explaining first to Harry that, after discovering Malfoy was aware of Harry's invisibility cloak, she had decided Malfoy couldn't be trusted, but it was for that same reason – that Malfoy couldn't be trusted – that Camilia insisted she stay with him. She had had to admit that she had made a poor choice of boyfriends, but, because of her precarious situation, she felt stuck with that choice until Malfoy did something so horrendous that she would have an excuse to be rid of him. He had, after all, been nothing but a gentleman to her since his slur ages ago in the entryway of the school, regardless of his previous treatment of her friends.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in Herbology when Camilia first seemed to warm up to them, and soon, though cautiously, Ron and Hermione had accepted her back into their circle. One Saturday evening, she even sat with them at dinner, to the great dismay of Malfoy, who pulled her aside after the meal.

"What, I'm not good enough for you now?" he teased, but he made it clear that he was only half-teasing.

Camilia smiled, act as though she hadn't noticed he was partly serious. "Well, you know, you _are_ a Slytherin," she replied, smirking.

"So?"

"So, I've got to at least make an effort at getting along with my own House, don't I?" She squeezed his arm, kissed him on the cheek to let him know everything was all right between them, and accepted his invitation to wander the grounds until the sun set.

Harry was having some difficulty not feeling a hint of jealousy each time he saw Camilia and Malfoy disappear somewhere together. He decided each time that it didn't bother him, and each time, became all the more passionate and fervent in the bedroom.

Camilia was having difficulties herself; she cared very much for Harry, but felt that her place in the magical world was at odds with his, and wanted to protect him from her. At the same time, she has losing interesting in making out with Malfoy, particularly as she could have been spending that time with Harry.

Malfoy noticed that something was different between them, and decided it was time to focus completely on his task. They had only three weeks left before school would be out for the summer, and with Camilia apparently dividing her attentions, time was running out.

That night, after he had returned to his common room from spending time in Camilia's company, he summoned his father in the fireplace.

"Do it," his father said, and that was all he required. He brought out the item he would need from his bedroom, placed it very carefully into his knapsack, and snuck off to the Room of Requirement. When it was placed and he had returned to the Slytherin Common Room, he wrenched a piece of parchment and a quill away from a third year, and began to write a brief and menacing message to one Mr. Harry Potter, Gryffindor Tower.

Sunday dawned brilliantly at Hogwarts. The sun rose above the castle, its light dappling the floor of Harry's room through the arrow slits in the tower. Camilia crept silently from Harry's bed, tiptoeing across the room, and slipping through the door without ever making a sound. She had kissed him gently as he slept and then scrambled back to her room.

About five minutes later, Hermione made the same escape, though she had exited Ron's bed.

The day was lazy; Camilia had told Malfoy that the Gryffindors had a Herbology project to work on, so she wouldn't be able to spend time with him until later that evening. Malfoy had only halfheartedly argued, knowing he would need time to set things in motion.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Camilia found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room after breakfast with nothing to do but lounge in front of the fire and chat the day away. They cracked jokes, teased one another, talked about all things meaningless, and a few things serious, but mostly, they just wasted the day in peaceful contentment. Hermione did no studying, Ron said nothing the whole day to Harry about his sister, Harry chose not to stress over Voldemort's plots and whereabouts, and Camilia abandoned her usual sarcasm. Harry could not remember a day with his best friends having been this good in a very long time.

Long about the middle of the afternoon, Dean approached, and Harry felt the muscles in his stomach lock. The group held their breath, waiting for whatever Dean had to say to be said. He turned to Camilia and, without looking at her, asked if she had a second. She glanced quickly at her friends, looked up at Dean, and said, "Uh, sure, Dean, no problem." She stood quickly and walked with him to the other side of the room.

"Wish I had some of Fred and George's extendable ears right now," muttered Ron.

Harry and Hermione, striving to listen in themselves, nodded in accord.

It was only a moment later that Dean clapped Camilia on the shoulder, and the two parted.

Camilia resumed her seat and sat silently for a few minutes, the others staring at her. Finally, Hermione could stand it no longer. "So?" she queried.

"Sorry…I was just wondering who was going to ask first, and I was right," she giggled.

"Okay, then, you were right. Now, tell us," badgered Hermione.

"He apologized," replied Camilia.

"What?" gasped Ron in total disbelief.

"That's what _I _said…I said, 'What do _you_ have to apologize for?' and he was like, 'Malfoy said it, not you, so I shouldn't have gone on the way I did. Especially about your family. You don't have any control over them, just like I don't have any control over my parentage. Not that I'm not proud of them, you see,' and that was where I cut him off. I told him I was the one who needed to apologize, not him, so, basically, I did. He said all was forgiven, and, well, we just left it that way," concluded Camilia.

"Wow," sighed Ron. "Good man. Though I have to admit, I was rather hoping for a fight…" The foursome laughed and continued on with their ramblings until dinner, when they traveled as a group down to the Great Hall and took their usual spots on the benches at the Gryffindor table.

Malfoy watched carefully from across the room, knowing what he would have to do just a few hours from now; his teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering, and though his appetite had vanished the day before, he felt miserably nauseous. He wondered how it would all play out; if things would go according to plan, if Potter would take the bait, and if Camilia…oh, God, Camilia…even Malfoy struggled with doing this to her, but the consequences were not his to worry about. He had to make this work; that was to be his focus. Glory awaited him, power awaited him, but mostly his master's approval awaited him. He braced himself for the task at hand, rose from the Slytherin table, and made his way quietly to the owlery.

Dinner was almost entirely uneventful, with the exception of Dumbledore catching Harry's eye halfway through. Camilia hadn't spoken to Dumbledore in months, and refused to attend lessons with him, though the invitations kept coming. He never bothered her, never demanded she appear, only continued to send the occasional owl to remind her of her Wednesday night lessons. When Harry looked to Dumbledore now, he appeared sad and tired, and seemed to express in that one look his hope that Harry would somehow be Camilia's strength, as he no longer could be. Harry turned back to his friends, feeling both anguished and hopeful at the same time.

When dinner ended, the four returned to their common room, and Camilia went upstairs to change into something more suitable for the time she would soon be spending with Malfoy, and also to apply a bit of Muggle make up. She had never mastered the art of apply make up by magic because she had never taken the time to practice any spells that were not extreme in their outcome. When she reappeared in the common room, Harry could not help but notice how ravishing she was.

"Going to go waste all that on Malfoy, are you?" he teased her. Ron and Hermione looked at him, confused that he would make such a comment to her, but Camilia only shrugged.

"You just want me," she replied cavalierly, and sauntered out the portrait hole, her hips swaying a bit more than usual as she walked.

Ron stared at his friend. "What was that about?" he asked Harry.

"Just messing with her, mate," smiled Harry in return.

"Sure," Hermione retorted, her right eyebrow raised.

"Right, mate," replied Ron, leaning against Hermione.

A wide grin spread across Harry's face. "What?" he asked, and then leaned back on the couch in front of the fire, and proceeded to rest his eyes.

He wasn't sure whether or not he'd fallen asleep – whether it had been just a minute or perhaps twenty – when an owl flew in a nearby window and landed haphazardly on Harry's lap. Its claws sunk into his thighs, and he jolted awake. Ron and Hermione laughed, and Harry fumbled with the string that tied the parchment to the bird's left leg. The look on his face when he had finished reading the note caused both Ron and Hermione to cease their laughter.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

"I have to get my wand!" yelled Harry, already on the move and halfway up the stairs to his room.

The message, which he'd stuffed into his pocket, had chilled him to the bone. The words flashed across his eyes as he grabbed his wand from off the dresser:

If you want to see Camilia alive again, meet me in the Room of Requirement in exactly five minutes. Tell no one and bring nothing, or she dies at my hands the moment you appear.

Do not doubt my sincerity in the matter.

Yours truly,

Draco Malfoy

P.S. I know what you've been doing.

Harry had his wand in his hand, and was madly attempting to conceal it in his pocket and he raced toward the portrait hole, ignoring the concerned pleas of his friends to slow down and explain himself. He raced blindly down the halls, full speed ahead, and by the time Ron and Hermione had climbed out of the portrait hole to track him down and follow after him, he was gone.

Camilia was stunned when she walked into the Room of Requirement; it now resembled a very regal bedroom with a large four poster bed, heavy draperies, a mammoth fireplace, and elegant décor. There were paintings on the walls, antique furniture adorning the room, and trinkets everywhere, from items on the mantle to a fireplace stoking set on the edge of a plush carpet, to a golden candlestick on a curio table near the door, and a delicate crystal chandelier as the room's crowning jewel. The coverlet on the bed was made of heavy, blood-red velvet edged in red and gold rope. "Wow, Draco," stammered Camilia. "Gryffindor colors, huh?"

Malfoy smiled innocently. "I thought that would be your preference, you see," he shrugged.

She turned to face him. "You put a lot of time and thought into this didn't you?" she asked.

"You have no idea."

Camilia walked to the bed, and Malfoy closed the door behind them. She brushed her hand over the thick velvet of the coverlet, and then looked at Malfoy. "We've talked about this, Draco. I'm still not ready."

His eyes bore into hers. "Still? Well, so be it. We can just enjoy one another's company. I wouldn't dream of asking you to do something you wouldn't want to. But we've done plenty of things already; we'll just have to revisit some of those. Wouldn't want all this to go to waste, you know."

Camilia took a deep breath. "No," she heard herself say, "we certainly wouldn't want to waste it."

Malfoy approached her; he had very little time, he knew, and had to make sure things were perfect for Potter. He shoved her backward onto the bed, hard, and when she asked if he thought he wasn't being just a little rough, his response was to tear the shirt from off her body. He immediately climbed onto her, and he had her jeans, shoes, and socks off a moment later. He held her down then, allowing his hands to roam all over her underwear-clad body, and kissed her deeply. Thinking of Harry, she permitted Malfoy to touch her, hoping he'd be done quickly, but realizing that Malfoy hadn't even begun to remove his own clothes yet.

As quickly as he'd begun to molest her, he had ceased. He climbed first off Camilia, and then off the bed, at which point he leaned back against the fireplace and folded his arm, leering at her. "Take off your brassiere for me," he ordered, "and do it slowly." Camilia did as she was told, standing in the center of the bed and leisurely striping the brassiere from off her body. Malfoy appeared pleased. "Now turn around for me. I want to look at you."

She began to turn, and right about the time she came full circle, the door to the Room of Requirement burst open. Standing there was Harry Potter.

"Harry!" she squealed, trying to cover up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" said Malfoy, smirking. "I invited him."


	17. Confrontations

Chapter 17 – Confrontations

"You WHAT?" shrieked Camilia, still collecting her outerwear.

"Invited," repeated Malfoy.

"God damn it, Malfoy," spluttered Harry, his chest heaving from the exertion of running almost the entire length of the castle, "you leave her alone!" yelled Harry, ignoring their exchange.

Malfoy smiled. "I expected something like that from you, Potter; a pathetic and rather cliché demand, don't you think?"

"Leave me…? Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Camilia begged as she haphazardly replaced her clothing.

"He..." Harry began, but had to pause, gasping for breath. "He said…said he was going to kill you – "

"You're such an idiot, Potter. Did you really think – " Malfoy interrupted, but was interrupted in turn by Camilia.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" she demanded.

Harry was still trying to catch his breath. "Said…he'd kill you if I didn't…if I didn't come here!" The strength was returning to his body as he attempted to reveal to her the reason for his appearance.

Camilia stared blankly at Harry. "What?" she asked, the confusion in her voice equally as readable on her face. Malfoy continued leaning against the fireplace, but neither of his companions noticed his right hand snake inside his robes to grab hold of his wand.

"It's true, my dear," admitted Malfoy, and both Harry and Camilia watched as, with a flick of his wand, Malfoy slammed and locked the door behind Harry. "I told him we would be here, and that if he did not arrive at the appointed hour, I would be forced to kill you."

"What?" she asked again, the full meaning of his words not sinking in.

"And your poor, sweet lover-boy here actually believed it." Malfoy turned to Harry. "You know full well she's worth more to the Dark Lord alive, Potter. How could you honestly think I'd kill her?" he challenged.

"I'd put nothing past you, _Malfoy_," said Harry, spitting out his name as though it caused a nasty taste in his mouth.

Malfoy chuckled. "So your lover-boy came to save you, Cami," drawled Malfoy. Camilia cringed at his use of his pet name for her. "How sweet. _Expelliarmus_!" he yelled, and the wand he had watch Harry reach for came flying from his pants and landed gracefully in Malfoy's outstretched hand, and then began to laugh quietly to himself. "Unfortunately, though, Potter, you chose not to follow my directions. I said no one and nothing. I see you saw fit to bring your wand, and though I won't kill your good-for-nothing whore because I need her, I fear it will be necessary to punish you, at the very least." He looked at Camilia, who appeared to be in shock, and sniggered. "Sorry about this, love," he said to her, smiling, and the smile on his face transformed immediately into a wicked grimace. "_Crucio!_" he yelled, and an arc of light sprang from the end of his wand and connected with its target, hitting Camilia square in the chest.

Had Malfoy not explained to the Room of Requirement that he would require a sound-proofed room, Camilia's tortured scream could have been heard by the Giant Squid gliding through the lake. Instead, it reverberated off the stone walls in the Room, temporarily deafening both Malfoy and Harry. Malfoy instinctively raised his hands to his ears to drown out the noise, and the spell was instantly broken.

Camilia lay, half-naked and shaking, on the blood-red coverlet. Harry had not felt so horrified or so helpless since he had lost his godfather the year before. He made to lunge at Malfoy, who turned his wand on Harry. "Though I am forced to keep this traitorous slut alive, I have not been required to do so with you, Potter. I suggest you take a few steps back."

Harry, thinking better of attacking Malfoy, turned his attention instead to Camilia, hoping that, by refusing to focus on Malfoy, the blonde boy would in turn open up about his reasons for inviting both himself and Camilia to the Room of Requirement. He wrenched a blanket from a nearby armchair and wrapped it around Camilia, hoping both to comfort and to cover her. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes in an attempt to assess what damage Malfoy's unforgivable curse might have done.

"No," was her simple reply, and she was staring directly at Malfoy, her eyes full of hatred and loathing. She took a deep breath then, steeling herself for an attack, but the instant she raised her hands to send a surge of magic at him, Malfoy yelled "_Dextella Ruptum!_" and Camilia instead clasped her hands together, curled them under her bust, and leaned forward as though in great pain.

"What did you do?" Harry's tone left no mistake for Malfoy that he insisted on an answer.

"Have _her_ show you," came Malfoy's reply. "And let's see her try to demonstrate her mystical powers now. Care to throw me against a wall, dear?" he mocked. "Or perhaps set me on fire?"

Harry ignored his taunts. "Camilia," Harry entreated her, "Let me see."

Tears streaming down her face, Camilia brought her hands up in front of her. She was obviously in agony. She very slowly unclasped her palms, but left her fingers overlapping so her hands were cupping the blood that had pooled in between them. Her palms were charred, her right one still smoking slightly, and both were a mess of blood and burnt, mangled flesh. "Oh, God," she squeaked, her face crumpling, and she squeezed her hands together once more, putting pressure as best she could on her wounds. The blood that had pooled in her hands was seeping down her arms and dripping from her elbows onto the matching coverlet beneath her. She raised her eyes to Malfoy's. "You're a monster," she hissed at him.

"A dragon, actually," he replied, chuckling at his own joke. "But I suppose monster will suffice, so long as you don't object to harlot, tramp, Jezebel, and any other choice words I choose to describe you."

"I object," stated Harry, climbing down off the bed.

"Yes, well, you would, wouldn't you," sighed Malfoy, seemingly unimpressed. "So, what are you going to do, Potter? Cuff your sleeves and come at me in my own girlfriend's defense?" Malfoy chuckled again. "Perhaps you should see to her, first. You see, I'm rather enjoying having my way with her. You've already had yours, of course, and now she's all mine. _Spiritus Angustia!_"

Camilia instantly clutched her throat, straining desperately for air. It seemed to Harry that she could breathe out, but she was unable to draw a breath. She turned to face him, coughing, more and more of the air in her lungs leaving each time she did. Harry felt paralyzed.

Draco laughed menacingly. "Feel a bit like you're drowning, do you?" She turned toward him. "Harry can't help you, you know. Your life is _mine_." He left her flail helplessly a moment longer, and then broke his spell. The air flooded Camilia's lungs all at once, and she lay gasping on the bed, having nearly blacked out. Harry took a step toward her, but as he began to move, Malfoy reached for a heavy iron fireplace poker. Wielding it like a club, he beat it lightly against his other palm, daring Harry to come closer to him. "You know, Potter," he said, his eyes murderous, "I really should use magic to bring about your end, like the Dark Lord did with your fool parents, but it'll be so much more fun to beat you senseless instead."

Malfoy took a step toward Harry, praying that he'd badgered him enough, willing him to reach for the candlestick on the table beside him. He smiled as he watched Harry turn to his right and left to find something he could use to defend himself. Camilia watched the whole thing; she saw Malfoy's breath quicken, saw him smile as Harry's frantic gaze focused on the candlestick near him, and she tried to warn him, but it was too late. "Harry, don't – !"

He had grabbed the candlestick, holding it like a sword, when it began to glow an eerie purple. Harry found that he couldn't release it, no matter how hard he tried. Suddenly, a giant pulse of purple light was emitted from the candlestick, engulfing Harry, and he crumpled silently to the floor, lying in a heap, the candlestick now just a candlestick, on its side a few feet away.

She leapt from the bed, sickened by the blood her hands left on his clothes and face as she tried to rouse him. "Harry, no, Harry, please, get up get up get up, come on, Harry, snap out of it, get up, please, get up, Harry, come on. You're all right, you're fine, wake up, Harry. Please, Harry, get up. Harry? Harry! HARRY, GET UP!" she screamed as she shook him. He didn't move.

She cradled his head in her lap and leaned over him, trying to feel his breath on her face, and was repulsed by the smear of blood she left on his neck as she tried to sense a pulse. He was breathing, she discovered, but his pulse was very, very faint, and his breathing was weak and labored. "Harry?" she asked tentatively. "Can you hear me?"

A new voice entered her ears; it was like silk against her skin, and it froze her in place. "He can hear you, but he won't respond," it said to her. She closed her eyes. She knew that voice.

"Oh, God," she said, under her breath, closing her eyes tight.

"I _do_ like that title," replied the voice. Malfoy chuckled.

While she still had her senses, she leaned low over Harry and whispered into his ear, "I love you, Harry Potter." Then she turned to look into the face of the man from whom the voice flowed. "You're older than I imagined you'd be," she stated, all her muscles tense, waiting for whatever he might attempt.

"Twenty-two, to be precise. I believe Dumbledore showed you what I was at sixteen. I could not have sealed up my sixteen year-old soul more than once; he should have known. I waited six long years to do it again. And it seems to have been worthwhile," he said, turning to Malfoy. "You have done well, Draco. Your parents will be proud."

"Thank you, my Lord," replied Malfoy, bowing, not daring to look his Master in the eyes.

Camilia, however, was not impressed. "What have you done to him?" she asked as forcefully as she could with quivering knees, indicating Harry on the floor at her feet.

"My young nemesis has allowed me to be here. Fitting, don't you think, that he who forced me to return this way is now forced to restore my body? As he grows weaker, I become strong. Soon," said Tom, he'll be dead, and I will rejoin myself with my…older self, to become stronger than either of us could dream alone. And you, my beautiful, alluring child, will give us a son."

In desperation, Camilia lunged for the door, grabbed its handle, and pulled so hard on it that she reopened the wound in her hands. She tried once to use her hands to blast open the door, but injured as she was, nothing happened. She began to beat upon the door, screaming for help, pleading that someone would come to her aid, when she felt an ice cold hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from it and spun against the door, and then Camilia found herself inches away from the face of Satan himself; Tom Riddle leaned forward and kissed her deeply.

She tried to push him away but her hands could find no purchase, almost as though he was a ghost. She could feel clothing, skin, but it seemed to disappear as she would reach to grasp it. The touch of his lips on hers were like frost on a flower; she felt softness, but then it was gone, and all the while her lips felt like they were pressed against a sheet of ice.

When he released her, she put up her hands to push him away, and found that they connected with fabric. She could hold him at bay. She turned to Harry, terrified that Riddle had become more tangible, wondering what the consequences would be for Harry, and it seemed his breath had slowed and become even shallower.

"Camilia, please. Do not concern yourself with such things. We have other things to think about," he said, lifting her chin so that she would look at him. "Things involving us."

She wrenched her eyes from his face…_his handsome, striking face… with those beautiful green eyes…_and her eyes met his once more. She drew in a breath, and what she had intended to come out with conviction, was instead a half-hearted "There is no 'us'."

"There we go," said Riddle, never taking his eyes from hers. "Just keep looking at me, Camilia. Just keep looking at me."

Her jaw went slack. She felt woozy, and had to blink repeatedly just to keep her focus. "Harry…" she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut, turning her head toward him on the floor, but Riddle only lifted her chin back to its original position.

"He's nothing, Camilia. He's pathetic…lying on the floor, powerless to help you, powerless in _all_ respects. You could have so much more. I know you yearn for it," he said.

She moaned softly in reply, forcing her eyes closed again, but unable to fight the desire to gaze again into his beautiful green eyes. "Stop," she mumbled, not sure whether or not she really meant it.

"You look fragile, Camilia," he began, and she noticed that each time he said her name, her chest heaved exquisitely. "Come, sit down." He led her to the bed, his hand cool, but no longer icy, his grasp firm and suddenly solid. Had she not had to pass him, she feared she'd have forgotten Harry completely, but as she neared the bed, she glanced down at him and twisted her hand from Riddle's.

Camilia dropped to her knees beside Harry, pleading with him to awake and arise once more. Riddle turned instead to Malfoy. "I tire of this," he said. "Fix it."

"As you wish, my Lord," Malfoy said, bowing, and then directed his wand at Camilia. "_Imperio!_" he cried, and her head fell backward. Her chest began to heave again with large, full breaths, and it was obvious to both Riddle and his minion that she was doing her best to fight his curse. As she sat on the floor alongside Harry's limp form battling Malfoy's spell, Riddle solicited if Malfoy an accounting of Camilia's activities while at school. "My Lord," he started, "if you are inquiring as to her abilities, she is incredibly strong and can perform great magic, though seldom can she perform even the simplest spells. If you wish to inquire after her doings amongst the students, she has a small group of friends in Gryffindor – those shared by Harry Potter – and none else. If, my Lord, you wish to know of her sexual activities, and I humbly apologize if this does not fit with your request, but she has been bedded by Potter and only been moderately intimate with me, myself – in striving to convince her of my affection, of course, so I could bring her to you," he added hastily. "Should you desire further information, I am at your service, my Lord."

"That was what I wished to know, Draco. How very interesting that she has shared a bed with Mr. Potter. A remarkable twist," Riddle mused. "I should think – "

Camilia yelled, shaking her head, and brought her hands to her face. "Not – going – to – " she was saying, and she reached to take one of Harry's hands in her own.

"ENOUGH!" roared Riddle, and he leaned over her and tore her away from Harry. He then grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her as he spoke. "I know what you want, _Camilia_, and _I_ am the only person who can offer it!" With all the strength his still-incomplete form could produce, he threw her backward onto the bed, turned to Malfoy and nodded, and with a simple _"Catena Appareo!"_ Malfoy conjured a set of shackles which sprang from the four posters of the bed, grappling for her wrists and ankles. Camilia was secretly glad for the distraction from Riddle, whose gaze and appearance she found extremely enticing. The shackles now seeking her limbs were a welcome respite from the temptation of his eyes_…those mind-numbingly erotic pools of emerald green…_and she found herself chained to the bed, spread-eagle. "You know I'm right, Camilia. You wanted my sixteen year-old self, but you find me at twenty-two ever so much more desirable. I'm older, wiser, more confident, more experienced, and _more powerful_," he declared, raising one brow.

"Please, Tom," she begged, "I can't. I can't."

"That's the wrong answer," he proclaimed. "You can, and you will, because you want to. More than you've ever wanted anything in your life, you want to yield to me. You want me to take you, you want to bear me a son, you want to stand beside me and rule with me as Lord over all the Earth. I can see it in your lust-filled eyes. That glazed expression on your face is undeniable; you long for me, and only me. All you have to do is give in, Camilia. Give in, and you can have it all. You can do what you wish, whenever you wish it. You'll never again have to hide or restrain your power. You can have anything… everything you want, and I'll make certain of it, only do this one thing for me: give in. Let me pleasure you. Let me use you and make you mine, and I will give you everything you ever ask for."

Camilia's mind was reeling. "Harry…" she said in his direction.

"I'll help you forget all about him, if that's what you want," promised Riddle.

"Harry," she said again, beginning to return to herself.

"He's none of your concern!" stormed Riddle, and then he calmed down. "He's nearly gone, and as I have told you, Camilia, he can offer you none of what I have to give you. _Look at me when I'm speaking to you!_" he bellowed, and she turned back to him, fear coursing through her body.

Riddle smiled a smile so insincere that Camilia was immediately brought back to reality. "HARRY!" she screamed, struggling against the shackles that bound her. "FIGHT!"

Riddle motioned to Malfoy, and he pointed his wand again at Camilia. _"Accio pants!"_ he yelled, followed by _"Accio shirt!"_ and then _"Accio brassiere!"_ and finally, _"Accio panties!" _Had Camilia not found herself suddenly in a position where rape was a logical conclusion, she'd have found such things comical, but as she now faced an adversary so beyond her she still could not comprehend it, she saw no humor in Malfoy's spells. Instead she lay naked and helpless on the bed, chained and vulnerable. The unspeakable severity of her situation weighing on her, she wept openly.

"There is no need to cry, my dear," said Riddle cynically. "You are more beautiful than I ever imagined." He turned to Malfoy. "How you could have kept from taking her, I'll never understand." Riddle turned again to Camilia. "Forget about all that's troubling you. Surrender yourself to me, Camilia." Her breath caught again. "Yield up your body. Submit yourself to my whims, and I'll give you everything – "

"Will you let Harry go?" she asked through her tears.

"Were I to do so, I would cease to exist in this form; however I can banish your memory of him. You'll never think of this again."

"Is he in pain?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"He feels nothing," he assured her, his voice smooth as satin. "But let's not think on it, Camilia." She refused to watch as Riddle began removing his shirt, which fell noiselessly to the floor, almost a completely solid article. "We both know what it is you want, Camilia, and there is no reason in this world not to give in to it." She could not help but watch as he slid the belt from his waist and let it drop to the floor as well, but refused to look into his eyes. "I have more to offer you than you can possibly fathom," he continued, removing his pants. "Far, far more, and more pleasure than you can possibly conceive of. It can be yours, Camilia; I'll share it with you." He crept onto the bed, allowing his hands to brush her legs as he moved. She turned her head toward Malfoy and stared at him, willing herself to be swallowed up in her hatred of him, but as Riddle's hands moved up her hips, and then to her breasts, she gave in to the desire to look at him once more.

Immediately she was lost in his eyes. Knowing he possessed great power over her, he kept his eyes locked on hers, and leaned in to kiss her. She felt, in that kiss, almost as though she were willing her soul into his. Kissing Harry had been the ultimate expression of love and passion to her; kissing Tom Riddle was the ultimate expression of desire and abandonment. In that moment, she lost the battle to Riddle. With that kiss, he knew she had become his. She had given in. When Riddle finally took his lips from hers, he spoke to Malfoy, but continued to stare into her eyes. "Draco, we'll not be needing these chains any longer."

_"Catena Dere!"_ ordered Malfoy, and the chains vanished from around her wrists and ankles.

"Oh, and Draco," said Riddle when he was finally confident that Camilia had given in to him, "feel free to watch if you like."

"Thank you, my Lord," replied Malfoy humbly, and as Riddle began to explore Camilia's body, he moved an armchair from across the room to a position overlooking the bed so he could enjoy the invitation to observe.

Camilia knew she was relinquishing her body to the most wicked of men, knew she was giving Harry over to a cold and lonely death, and knew that the two men she counted most cruel and vile in the world were molesting her body and sadistically watching it happen, but Riddle was so enticing…so alluring…so tantalizing, that she found herself utterly seduced. She had been wholly taken in by his words, his voice, his body, his scent, his taste, and most of all, his eyes. And she let it happen. His power was her ambrosia, and she was unable to fend off the wanton drunkenness that had overtaken her senses.

She felt him part her legs, watched him position himself, and noticed vaguely that his flesh was beginning to warm, which thought left her mind the moment it had entered. She felt him enter her, and as he did, a pleasure she had never known ripped through her body; she felt the rush of illicit sex and a dirty, perverse pleasure knowing that Malfoy was watching Riddle enjoy something he himself would never know…the warmth of her interior. She was giddy, matching him thrust for thrust, returning his battering of her body, and the satisfaction that seized her body as they enjoyed one another was blissful. She felt further gratification as she examined Malfoy's face; his eyes were riveted to their conjoined pelvises, an empty yet searing look in his eye. She gazed again into Riddle's eyes, voicing the ecstasy that had encompassed her body through passion-riddled moans. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy his thrusts, and all at once she felt she was floating far above, lost in space, and then she was coming down, but things were not as she had expected when she opened her eyes. Rather than lying on a blood-red velvet coverlet in the transformed Room of Requirement being willingly ravished by a young Voldemort, she was standing in a misty wood in the dead of night, naked, freezing, and face to face with Charity Danforth Pritchard.


	18. Decisions

Chapter 18 – Decisions

Camilia had read her ancestor's book cover to cover and found nothing that would suggest to her how or why Charity had killed herself. She realized in this instant that the book had been meaningful, not as an instruction manual for suicide, but as having contained the spell that brought Camilia here at precisely this moment. There was, in the Pritchard's book, spells both for summoning people and for altering time. Each had warnings as postscripts. She remembered that altering time was dangerous because of what the outcome would be, and remembered that summoning people was risky because if the individual was not adequately prepared for the possibility of a summoning, their hearts might stop when the summoning occurred.

The spells were long and nearly impossible to perform, except for a very gifted wizard or witch. Charity had been just such a witch, and determined enough to do what it took to bring her future to her. She had sent a vision to her descendent almost four hundred years from that moment and had opened the channel for Camilia to enter her realm when she summoned the green flame, closing the conduit by allowing herself to be engulfed by the flames...the flames that had resembled those created by Floo powder. Finally, she had summoned the very descendent she must of necessity reach by sacrificing her own blood to bring her.

_But it wasn't necessary to sacrifice _all_ your blood!_ thought Camilia frantically. _Just blood from the rib of Eve! Not _all_ of it!_

Now here she was, in the flesh, staring at the striking, pale-faced beauty before her. She did not notice the biting cold against her bare skin or the leaves crunching underfoot; she felt only the chill of seeing, firsthand, dark red blood pouring from side of her ancestor's body, soaking into her thin white undergarments. The mahogany dress Camilia had seen in her dream had been cast off, and the kitchen knife lay at Charity's feet.

Then, just as in her dream, Charity looked up from her place amongst the flames, still clutching the rock with her blood-covered hands. She looked into Camilia's eyes, and Camilia noticed that Charity glanced at her own reddened hands that looked at that moment so like Camilia's own. Her eyes then locked on Camilia, more intense than any gaze she had ever before held.

As deep and severe as was Charity's gaze, it was also warm, gentle, kindly, and affectionate. In that look, she communicated to Camilia exactly what was required of her as the descendent of a Danforth, and in that moment, Camilia knew her future.

She wanted dreadfully to speak to Charity, to explain that she understood, that she was a woman up to the task. She wanted to make clear to her forebear that she appreciated what Charity was even then doing for her, and that she would not betray that sacrifice. She realized that the history books were wrong; her ancestor had not committed suicide to seal a counter-curse upon her own family; she had done that long before this occasion. Charity had instead chosen to act in similitude, since she could not act as proxy, and in doing so, had made the ultimate sacrifice. She was Camilia's paradigm.

All this dawned on Camilia in a millisecond, and just as she was about to open her mouth to connect to Charity verbally, to reassure her that her immense sacrifice would not be in vain, Charity vanished in a cloud of ash.

This time she did not scream. Instead she moved slowly forward to the ash scattered about the leaves on the ground, and touched her bloodied fingertips to it. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for to meet her destiny, and reached her hand out to touch the flames before her.

In an instant she was back, her body still being used by Riddle, Malfoy still staring, slack-jawed, at their rutting bodies. They did not known she had been gone from them.

She felt again the pleasure coursing through her body and the desire to continue allowing herself to be used; she looked again into Riddle's arresting emerald eyes, and she could feel the power in them, the hunger in them. She mustered her strength and grabbed hold of Riddle's back.

"Ow!" she squeaked, and he stopped thrusting momentarily.

"What is it?" he demanded, frustrated at having to cease his ministrations.

"My…my hands…I can't touch you," she sighed, shaking her head. "Draco wounded me…" Camilia's voice trailed off and the accusation hung in the air like a thick fog.

"Draco," snapped Riddle, "heal her."

"But, my Lord," began Malfoy, blubbering, "if I heal her, she – "

"You dare to question me, Dragon? Do it now!" Riddle's tone left no room for argument.

Malfoy relented. "As you wish, my Lord," he said, and with a flick of his wand and a muttered _"Dextella Integra!"_ her hands were whole.

"Thank you, Tom," said Camilia, and braced herself to face her fate. Looking into his eyes, so green, but so very different from Harry's, the young woman began her work. She ran her nails down Riddle's back, hoping to distract him from the fact that her hands were now in a position to perform her magic and to convince him he'd made the right decision having her hands restored by Malfoy's spell. Using her left hand to call forth the green flames she'd practiced summoning with Dumbledore, she consumed the candlestick on the floor next to Harry, and her right to dig hard into the flesh of Tom's back, Camilia's power engulfed the both of them in its own blue electric light.

The flames engulfed the candlestick, and it glowed from its center a bright purple, the light within it pulsating and increasing in size with each pulse, until the entire object was glowing. The pulsing slowed and the purple light being emitted from the candlestick intensified.

Meanwhile, Riddle and Camilia both felt the electricity she had created coursing through their bodies. He could not tear himself from her and was therefore trapped, connected fully to her body, screaming and writhing and cursing her. He turned to Malfoy, begging him to do something, but Malfoy was frozen in his terror, having knocked over his chair as he attempted to scramble away from the power that had consumed them.

The candlestick, still glowing purple, was now glowing so brightly that Malfoy found he could not turn toward it. He crept behind his fallen chair, using it as a shield for his eyes, when suddenly it rose up from the floor and hovered in the air, spinning madly within the flames surrounding it.

Four things happened then, almost simultaneously: the heavy gold of the candlestick split and it fell to the carpet in two pieces while the flames receded, the prostrate form of Riddle that had been lying atop Camilia seemed to splinter and then vanish, Harry sat straight up, fully restored to himself, and Camilia, her eyes on Harry, breathed her last breath.

Malfoy, terrified by what he'd seen and how badly his charge had failed, hit the ground running and with an almost imperceptible _"Alohamora!"_ raced from the room. Harry, however, stood and approached the bed, paying Malfoy no mind. He approached Camilia's body, expecting her to open her eyes, to speak to him, to hug and hold and caress him and revel in her success with him, or at the very least to attempt to cover her nakedness. She did none of those. Instead she lay still, her hands having been made whole, but her heart having stopped its beating.

Harry touched her face, listened for breath, felt for her pulse, but knew, deep down, it was all in vain. He felt shattered, but he could summon no tears. Even now, next to her empty shell, he found he would not accept she was gone.

He spoke to her, told her that he had heard what had gone on, that he knew she had won in the end, that she had been successful, and how proud he was of her. He told her that he had heard her say she loved him, and that it meant the world to him. He explained to her that he loved her as well, and knew that, because he loved her, she couldn't be dead. She couldn't, because he'd never had a chance to tell her that he loved her, as a friend or otherwise. He spoke matter-of-factly, waiting for her to begin to breathe again, waiting for her to open her eyes…but it didn't happen. He reached for the same blanket he'd wrapped around her shoulders earlier, which had fallen on the floor, and he draped it gently over her, pulling it up only to her shoulders, wanting to be sure she was covered.

Finally he convinced himself that if he called her name, if he tried to do the same thing she had tried to do for him, she would open her eyes to the sound of it. "Camilia," he began, "Open your eyes. Come on, Camilia, we need to get you to the hospital wing." He had moved to shake her. "You can't just lie here, Camilia, you'll need to be see by Madam Pomfrey!" He ran his hand through her hair to the back of her head and lifted it off the bed. "Camilia! CAMILIA!" But just as her pleas had done nothing to help Harry, his did nothing to restore her. She was gone.

Harry lay her head back down very gently, stood up and smoothed his pants, looked absently around the room and back at her lifeless body lying on the bed, and then rubbed his face hard with both hands. When he brought his hands back down, he found that there was dried blood on them, and couldn't remember having been injured. He found dried blood on his clothes, as well, and knew that the handprints that had made them must have been Camilia's hands.

Harry turned and swept his wand from the floor, then pointed it at a large decorative vase on a table across the room. "_Confractum!"_ he bellowed, and the vase exploded, its shards spraying everything around it. He swung around and was face to face with a row of knick knacks on the mantel. "_Considio!"_ he screamed, and each item was swept from the mantel one by one and came crashing to the floor. Harry looked above him to the chandelier overhead, and he could not help himself; an enraged scream of "_Degravo!"_ left his lips, and the chandelier fell to the floor in pieces, narrowly missing both Harry and the bed, where Camilia's prostrate body still lay.

He focused then on her, and began a tirade he'd never imagined coming from his own lips. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?" he began, his breath failing him periodically. "HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS? Why am I ALWAYS the one to pick up the pieces? You can't just DIE on me, God damn it! GET UP!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "GET UP, you STUPID, STUPID…" His voice trailed away; he wanted to be angry at her, but he just couldn't bring himself to continue his verbal attack. Thoughts and images were rushing through his mind: when he first saw her, late nights discussing lessons with Dumbledore, her first encounter with house elves, spying on Malfoy with her. Thinking of Malfoy, an image, unbidden, crept in; he could almost see her with Tom Riddle, her legs wrapped around him, moaning into the crook of his neck, just as she'd done with Harry the night before, and rage washed over him once more.

"YOU KNEW WHAT WAS COMING! DUMBLEDORE WARNED YOU! WHY DIDN'T YOU KEEP UP YOUR LESSONS?" He was so incensed that he was practically fuming. "WHY DID YOU EVER LET HIM TOUCH YOU? You SAID you loved ME! THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY FOR THIS TO END! HOW COULD YOU NOT KNOW THAT?" Harry chucked his wand at the floor and reached for the fire poker Malfoy had used to threaten him earlier. He went around the room smashing anything he could find to smash, beating on and tearing through furniture, tapestries, paintings, and carpeting, and when at last he swung the poker at one of the four post of the bed and realized what he was doing, he flung the poker to the floor and slumped against the wall nearest Camilia's head, exhausted.

The tears still would not come, but the as he sat there in a heap on the floor, he could not keep Camilia's last words to him from echoing through his skull. _"I love you, Harry Potter…I love you, Harry Potter…"_ she repeated over and over again. _"I love you, Harry Potter."_

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been there when he finally looked up, but there before him was Albus Dumbledore, flanked by Professors McGonagall and Snape. _Why did he have to bring Snape?_ thought Harry irritably. _Why should he get to see me like this?_ In fact, Harry couldn't stand to have anyone see him like this, or Camilia, either. "Please go," he asked, not looking up at any of them, but half ordering and half begging them to leave.

"Harry," said Dumbledore gently, and Harry glanced up at him. He saw that the Headmaster was blinking back tears.

"You could have stopped this, you know!" screamed Harry suddenly, not knowing where it came from. He had not spoken this way to Professor Dumbledore since Sirius had been killed last year. "You could have saved her! Why didn't you insist she keep up her lessons? Why didn't you forbid her from spending time with Malfoy? You could have – "

But Professor McGonagall interrupted Harry. "That is quite enough, Potter," she said quietly, but there was an edge to her voice that informed him that he needed to reign in his emotions. "The Headmaster has just lost a student, and now is not the time – "

The Headmaster cut her off. "Minerva, I believe I shall take it from here, but thank you," he added, and nodded in her direction. She nodded in return, and pulled Snape off to the other side of the room.

"I'm going to have Professor McGonagall see to the body," Dumbledore said quietly to Harry, "and have Professor Snape both take the broken candlestick on the floor to Professor Moody and track down Draco Malfoy."

Harry looked miserable. "It was like the diary, wasn't it?" he asked Dumbledore.

"It was; it contained a bit of Tom Riddle's soul. The darkest of magic. Such things are called Horcruxes, Harry, but I think it best to discuss them in my office."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, hanging his head. "What is Professor McGonagall going to do with her?" he asked, turning to look on Camilia's body.

"We will arrange for a burial and a memorial service of some sort," replied Dumbledore, "but in the meantime we need to put her somewhere that she'll be unlikely to be disturbed, or found by wandering students, as it were."

Harry nodded, but could not tear his gaze from her. Dumbledore closed his eyes, and within himself found the truth: Harry and Camilia had been intimate, and so Harry's loss was going to be far more difficult to overcome than had they been simply good friends.

"Are you ready?" he asked Harry.

"Ready?" Harry repeated.

"To go to my office," replied Dumbledore.

"May I have just another minute?" he entreated the Headmaster.

"Of course, Harry…but just a moment more," he said.

Harry walked over Camilia. He then touched her hair, her face, and did what he'd never imagined he would have a desire to do: he kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned from her and left with Dumbledore, never looking back.


	19. Closure

Chapter 19 – Closure

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Professor McGonagall entered the Gryffindor Common Room to give word to her House that they were now without one of their numbers. Ron and Hermione were, as usual, sitting together on the couch in front of the fire, snuggling, snogging, and enjoying the warmth of it the remaining flames before they burned out. Knowing that the two were prefects, McGonagall stood in front of them, blocking the heat of the fireplace. When they felt the cold, they ceased their kissing and found themselves staring into the face of none other than their Head of House. Hermione leapt from Ron's lap and smoothed her clothing while Ron stared at the floor, hoping McGonagall wouldn't notice how red his face had become. They were both terrified that she would scold them for their display, but discovered her intentions were completely different than what they'd anticipated.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I need you each to go to your dormitories right this moment and wake every student in every year. They are to come here to the common room and meet together with me in exactly ten minutes; you will both be present as well. I have some unfortunate news to deliver." They sat and stared at her for a moment, Ron with his mouth hanging open stupidly, and finally she was forced to add a strong "Now!"

Ron and Hermione scrambled off the couch and up the staircases to their separate dorms. It wasn't but a few moments before the third year students began to appear in the room, most rubbing their eyes, and a few moments later the first year students were joining them. The fifth and second years came together, Ginny herding a troop of second year girls into a corner where they could curl up on sofas, still half-asleep. The fourth and seventh years arrived shortly thereafter, followed lastly by the sixth years, who were on the top-most floors of the dormitories. Ron and Hermione emerged from their respective staircases at about the same time and he immediately went to her. "Harry's not there," he mumbled.

"Neither is Camilia," she said, her eyebrows raising. "Do you think – "

Before she had the opportunity to voice any concerns, Professor McGonagall was clearing her throat, attempting to capture the attention of the confused and sleepy Gryffindors. When all eyes were on her, she began her unhappy message. "There has been an accident," she started, but her voice faltered. She cleared her throat once more, and started again. "…A most unfortunate accident. One of our House was found a short time ago, and is, I am very sorry to say, no longer with us."

Ron's face was white as snow, and Hermione's eyes instantly filled with tears. "Harry?" she asked, her voice quivering. "But…"

Before she could get out another word, the entire group had begun talking to one another. Harry Potter's name could be heard throughout the room as the students searched their populace for the famous wizard and the tears had already begun to pour from the eyes of the youngest students, when Professor McGonagall spoke up. She had not expected this.

"It is _not_ Mr. Potter!" she proclaimed, and with a heavy heart, she finished, "It is Miss Pritchard who was found."

Most of the students' eyes dried immediately. "What?" came the general response. "How could – ?" "She can't – " "The Prophecy – " It seemed that the only individuals who were not gossiping but rather tearing up were Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. Dean, who had only that day patched things up with Camilia, appeared to be in shock. Hermione was crying in earnest, her head on Ron's chest. He had his arms around her but brought one hand briefly to his eyes to wipe away a fear of his own tears.

McGonagall hushed the students. "I realize that Miss Pritchard did not spend as much time in her House as some of you are accustomed to spending yourselves, but I also understand that there are those of you present here this evening who were very close to her. Though I cannot discuss the details surrounding her most unfortunate passing at this time, I can tell you that the school will be holding a private memorial service for her this week and if you feel you were close enough to Miss Pritchard that you would like to attend, please let me know personally so that I can make arrangements for you. Otherwise, please return to your dormitories. The Headmaster will have further comments to make tomorrow morning at breakfast." She eyed the students briefly, and then, shaking her head, she dismissed them all. "Goodnight," she said, and the majority turned to the stairs to head back to their rooms.

Only Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and Neville remained behind. "Professor?" asked Hermione, stepping forward, "I would like to be in attendance at…at…Camilia's…" She could not finish, and instead left her request hanging in the air like a crystal chandelier in a strong gale. Her jaw was clenched and she was holding her breath, hoping to keep herself together.

"Me too, Professor," Ron entreated her.

"And me," added Ginny.

Dean spoke for both himself and Neville. "Us, too," he said, and Neville nodded solemnly.

"Thank you. I am certain Miss Pritchard would have appreciated that. Now, please return to your dormitories…and try to get some sleep." McGonagall turned to the portrait hole, preparing to leave, when Hermione spoke up.

"Please, Professor," she solicited, "Is…is Harry all right?" Each of the four other students paused, hoping to hear McGonagall's response.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, considering how honest she should be with the students, given the circumstances. "He will be, Miss Granger. Mr. Potter is with the Headmaster now, up in his office, and will be returning to bed shortly. I would request," she included, "that you not bother him for the details of this evening. I'm certain he will speak to the lot of you about them when he is ready. Now, good night." With that, she swept up her gown and made her way through the portrait hole, leaving the group to themselves in the common room.

"I'm staying here," announced Hermione, plopping herself down onto the couch where she'd been sitting earlier with Ron.

"Me, too," said Ginny, throwing herself down beside her.

"You heard what she said!" Ron protested. "We're not supposed to bother Harry about this tonight."

"I agree, and I'm going to bed," Dean shrugged, and made his way up the stairs to his room.

Neville watched him leave. "Well…how about we just sit and wait for him? He doesn't have to talk to us; I just…want him to know…well…" Neville's voice faltered.

"We understand," Hermione said, patting Neville's arm as he sat in the chair next to hers.

Ron threw up his hands exasperatedly, but sat down on the other side of Hermione and put his arm around her. "All right. We'll wait."

It was Neville who woke upon hearing the portrait close and saw Harry emerge from the portrait hole. "Harry!" he said quietly, realizing he'd fallen asleep and wondering what time it was.

"Shhh," replied Harry, pointing at the other three Gryffindors, all sound asleep.

"What time is it?" he asked Harry.

"Half past three," came the reply.

"Blimey," said Neville, rubbing his eyes. When he looked up again, he could see that Harry's eyes were tired and puffy-looking, and he had what appeared to be dried blood on his shirt. He remembered McGonagall's orders not to query Harry about the evening's goings-on, and instead crossed over to him so he could speak without rousing the others. "Harry, we all stayed here because…well, because we wanted you to know that we…I'm sorry, Harry, Hermione could do this better. Perhaps I should wake her – "

Harry interrupted. "No, Neville, it's all right. Let her sleep." Neville nodded, and looked longingly back at Hermione, wishing he had her eloquence of speech. Harry seemed to read his thoughts. "Thanks, Neville. I appreciate it." Neville nodded, unable to look Harry in the eye. "I'd best get to bed, Nev. Sorry. Goodnight." Before he could go, Neville caught his arm and pulled Harry to him, giving him an awkward, one-armed pat sort of hug. Harry hadn't expected this, and knowing what Neville had suffered and continued to suffer with his parents, valued this gesture more than Neville could have imagined. "Goodnight," he said again, fighting back the tears he'd imagined had all be cried out, and made his way toward his bed, collapsing upon it. He was asleep almost instantly, and his sleep, thanks to a draught of potion from Madam Pomfrey, was entirely dreamless.

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore proved just as vague in his explanation of Camilia's death as McGonagall had been the night before. Accepting only the Headmaster and a few of the professors, it seemed Harry was the only one who new anything further about her demise, and he was speaking to no one, though no one had approached him with questions, either.

News of Malfoy's disappearance had spread, and it was generally agreed both that he had had something to do with Camilia's death, and that he had fled the school as a result. As this was actually fact, neither the professors or Harry felt the need to refute the gossip being spread around regarding Malfoy's departure.

The memorial service was held Wednesday, and from the time Harry had arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room after his conversation with Dumbledore to the time he and his friends made their way down to the lake, he had said nary a word about Camilia's death. To all intents and purposes, in fact, he had acted entirely as though nothing unusual had happened. His mourning was, during that period, entirely private, and most often late at night, alone in his bed, shrouded by the thick velvet Gryffindor curtains that hung from his canopy…the time he had grown accustomed to enjoying with her.

The assembly headed slowly toward the lake Wednesday morning after breakfast for the memorial service; it included Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and the Headmaster, as Dean had decided it was best that he not attend, not having been as close to Camilia as the others. Harry was secretly glad; he felt the fewer people present, the better. None of the professors were available to attend, as they were all teaching classes, and again, Harry preferred it that way.

Professor Dumbledore decided for the group that a memorial service would be preferable to a funeral so that the students would not have to be in the presence of the body. He had had Camilia interred in a private cemetery on the Hogwarts grounds that few people were aware of, as it mainly consisted of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, as well as a few professors who had been without families. The site of the cemetery was not a mystery; most students just never noticed the headstones lying amidst the pumpkins in the pumpkin patch, the cemetery's location. Her marker had been visited Tuesday evening by Harry, who had laid a bouquet of roses over her stone, which lay flat in the earth. He had become choked up when he read the inscription, and it haunted him still. It was simple, concise, and so very sad:

Camilia Pritchard

1988 – 2005

She: Lived, Loved, Remembered

The Headmaster had conjured half a dozen chairs at the water's edge, leaving a small area in front of them on the embankment open for himself and Harry to speak. He introduced himself as he who would be conducting the services, and said a few brief words about how aggrieved he was by Hogwarts' loss of Camilia Pritchard as a student, fellow witch, and friend. He explained that he knew she was in a better place, and that, though he knew she would be sorely missed, her legacy would be eternal. Professor Dumbledore then invited Harry to give the Eulogy he had prepared on her behalf.

Harry rose from his seat as the Headmaster sat in his. He felt awkward, disarmed, and vulnerable, but he marched, his head held high, to the spot where the professor had been moments before. As he looked out above the heads of his friends, all seated and looking expectantly at the youth before them, mature beyond his years, he could not keeping the tears from sliding down his cheeks. He made not a sound as he wept, but refused to acknowledge either his tears or his comrades as he prepared to speak.

"I never dreamed when I met Camilia Pritchard that I would love her as I did. I also never dreamed that I would lose her as I did. I think it's important that you all know that she died for me, to save my life, and to save the lot of you…from Voldemort."

Harry's words hung in the air, frightening, but earnest. "Tom Riddle returned to Hogwarts, and he used me to do it. Camilia stopped him. She sacrificed herself to bring me back, and to prevent him from finishing with me what he tried so many years ago to do to Ginny. She fought like a Lion – like a Gryffindor – and no matter what anyone thought of her, she deserves to be remembered as a hero."

"I was in love with her." Ginny's eyes dropped, almost imperceptibly, to her hands folded in her lap. Harry didn't notice. "She was far from perfect, but it was the love and the friendship that we shared – all of us – that allowed her to become more than Voldemort thought she ever could be…more than _she_ thought she ever could be."

"Weeks and weeks ago, Ginny and I heard, but did not understand at the time, that this would come to pass. We were told – by someone who, just like Camilia, isn't given enough credit – that Camilia would not see the day Voldemort was defeated, but that she would aid in the cause against him. I have spent the last few days wondering…if we had understood, would I have been able to save her from her fate? The answer is no; those words were spoken not to give us the opportunity to change things, but to comfort those who were destined to remain behind, to give us the strength we would need to win the war, and the knowledge that we are already halfway there.

"Charity Danforth sacrificed herself for her descendant – our friend – and Camilia, in turn, followed her awful, beautiful example and did what perhaps none of us would have had the power to do: give up a future in exchange for the knowledge that, though gone, she had done the right thing. She had made the right choice. Camilia and I spent the last few weeks living for one another, and in the end – her end – she was willing to die for me.

"My Aunt Petunia used to read to Dudley from her Bible, and though I was not invited to listen, I often did anyway, pretending to be dusting or sweeping or…whatever it was she needed done. My favorite scripture, one that always stood out to me and comforts me now, is from the fifteenth chapter of Saint John: 'Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.'

"Camilia Pritchard felt such a love, and showed that love by sacrificing her life to spare mine. I owe her everything, and I will miss her…" Harry's voice broke and more tears trickled down his cheeks, but he resumed his speaking. "I will miss her more than I can possibly tell." He brought both hands to his face to wipe his eyes, and then ran them up and through his untamable hair. He took just a moment to compose himself, and then looked at his friends.

"Voldemort will be defeated. We must make certain of it. Camilia has made our pathway sure; please, please help me to remember her by ensuring that she did not surrender her life for naught. Her memorial should therefore be that she lived well, loved magnificently, and died willingly, and for all of those things and all that she was, she shall be dearly missed." As Harry returned to his seat, he noticed that he was not the only person present with tears in his eyes; in fact, he saw, there seemed not to be a dry eye amongst all those in attendance. He was thankful for the commiseration of his friends as he listened to the Headmaster wrapping up the proceedings, and even more grateful for their physical companionship as they walked, all linked to each other, hand in hand and arm in arm, back to the castle.

The week, and then the weekend, passed quietly. Classes resumed, school was nearing its end, and the next Monday the Great Hall was buzzing happily once more…until the arrival of the Daily Prophet. The hall went silent. Stone-faced, Hermione handed the front page to Harry, sitting opposite her at breakfast at the Gryffindor table. He found, staring up at him from the page, the cold, lifeless eyes of Draco Malfoy, his body dumped haphazardly in Diagon Alley, a magical yellow field surrounding him at about hip-height that to Harry was reminiscent of a Police line. The story in the Prophet read:

**Young Heir of Patron Pureblood Family Dead!**

Draco Malfoy, only child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, was discovered early this morning outside of Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley, murdered by what appears to have been the Killing Curse. His body was discovered by Madam Malkin herself, who states that he was lying in a heap against her door, his personage partially obscured by his Hogwarts robes, which had been removed and were lying atop the remains. Malkin pulled back the robes in hopes of encouraging the youth to move from her doorway, and in so doing revealed that he was, in fact, deceased.

Young Malfoy's shirt was missing, and tattooed in large letters across his chest, presumably by way of the Atflictio curse, was the word "FAILURE." Near his right hand was a Muggle artifact, assumed to be a one-way portkey, according to Aurors, who found traces of the spell having been performed. Unfortunately, they have been unable to determine from whence the portkey might have originated, the majority of the artifact – called a "sell fone" by Muggles – having been obliterated upon impact with Diagon Alley cobblestones.

Malfoy is survived by his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, as one of the few remaining "pureblood families" in Britian. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have been great patrons of the Wizard Arts, and Mr. Malfoy is currently employed by the Ministry as a consulting barrister to the Minister of Magic. The Minister stated today that –

Harry did not bother to finish the article on the next page. Instead he shrugged and handed the paper back to Hermione. "Wish it'd been me to do it," he muttered, retrieving his fork to continue with breakfast.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, offended. "That's horrible!"

"'Mione's right about that one, mate. Did you see this picture?" he asked, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to look at it once more. "Wouldn't wish _that_ on anyone!"

Harry stared coldly at his friends, and they ceased their speech. His words were measured, slow, and exact as he spoke to them. "If you had seen what I have seen and heard what I was forced to hear, you would not only wish for worse, but to have been allowed to do it yourself. There shouldn't have been enough of him left to be tattooed," he whispered fiercely, his eyes penetrating them to their cores.

Harry excused himself from the table, taking Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet with him. When he reached his room, he removed his wand from his pocket, traced the edges of the picture, whispering "_Exsectum Prophet!_" and the picture fell from the paper onto his lap, cut cleanly from it. The photographic clipping was tucked into his trunk and the rest of the Prophet was thrown away. Harry lay back on his bed, pondering the method used to kill Malfoy, and finally fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming all the while that Voldemort was chasing him after him, screaming at him that he hadn't paid for his tattoo.

Friday night was the end-of-term feast, and Saturday morning meant a mad rush of students packing and hugging and running to and fro; all except Harry, who had packed days ago and was waiting patiently on the steps of the castle for the carriages to arrive to take him to the Hogwarts Express. As he was waiting, Professor Dumbledore emerged from the castle, carrying what appeared to be a Muggle backpack. He handed it to Harry but looked out toward the lake.

"I gave Professor Snape the duty of going through Mr. Malfoy's things; I do not believe this belonged to him, though it was in his possession, and thought perhaps you might want it." Harry unzipped it, nodding, and found inside a number of items, including a sweater that smelled, unmistakably, of Camilia. His voice caught in his throat.

"Thank you, Headmaster..._for everything_," he added. The Headmaster's eyes looked suspiciously bright, but he smiled proudly at his student. Dumbledore had had little hope that his consolation and advice would reach the young man, but as always, Harry had surprised the old wizard. Dumbledore opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead sighed heavily, patted the boy on his shoulder, and reentered the castle, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

Harry stuffed the sweater back into the backpack and opened the other pockets. All told, he found a Muggle passport, a Muggle CD walkman and a case full of CDs, a wallet with Muggle photos of Camilia and various friends, and, most amazingly, a diary outlining her likes and dislikes, fears, desires, and experiences, some of which described odd magical things she had managed while particularly emotional. Harry decided it would make good summer reading, and thrust it back into the pack which he then stowed in his trunk, feeling very grateful to the Headmaster.

The carriages were loaded, the students transported to the train station, and then they all boarded the train bound for King's Cross. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all sat in the same compartment, sharing memories and discussing next year's potential. Harry was mostly quiet, and at one point as he began to doze, Ginny pulled him to her so that his head fell comfortably in his lap. She stroked his hair and he let her do it, trying not to imagine she was Camilia, but unsuccessful all the same. She had only wanted to comfort him, and he realized that he stood in need of comfort, so he allowed himself to enjoy her ministrations, Ginny or not.

He fell asleep briefly, and when he woke, his head was pointed up; he was looking into her face, and her expression was tender. She gently ruffled his hair, and smiled longingly at him. He did not miss the ache in her eyes.

"Thanks, Gin," he smiled in return.

"Sure, Harry," she shrugged.

He reached up and put a hand on her upper arm, grasping it. "No, Ginny, I mean…thank you." She nodded seriously, and when he said nothing more, she continued running her fingers through his hair.

When they reached King's Cross, Hermione, Ginny, and even Ron hugged him in turn, though Ron's hug was more of a slap on the back. "Just one more summer with the Muggles, Harry," he reassured his friend. They walked together to the parking lot, where Harry's Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley were waiting. "It's almost over," said Ron.

"Yes," replied Harry, waving goodbye to his friends, handing Hedwig's cage to his uncle, and retrieving Camilia's backpack from his trunk, slinging it over his shoulder. "It is almost over," Harry agreed, and he got into the car with his relatives, prepared to face what would undoubtedly prove to be the longest summer of his entire life.

The End.


End file.
